Sworn to Darkness
by Anakin Skywalker Vader
Summary: Anakin and Obi-Wan have fought on Mustafar, and Anakin is left limbless, wounded, and dying. However, Obi-Wan cannot bring himself to leave Anakin alone to suffer and die. Instead, he takes him prisoner, hoping he can still save his life... and his soul. Will Anakin be persuaded to come back to the Light? Or is he forever sworn to darkness?
1. Chapter 1

**Sworn to Darkness**

CHAPTER I

He did not know what had happened at first. One moment he was jumping— There was a flash of blue light. Then pain. Agony! It hit him so hard that it paralyzed him. It blinded him. Like a thousand pounds of a metal, like Thor's war hammer, slamming into him and striking him down, it hit him full force in the chest. The air was forced out of his lungs, and he was left gasping for breath, unable to find any. He could not breathe. He could not move. He could not see. He could hear a voice—his own voice, he realized few seconds later—groaning in agony, making weak and terrible sounds like an animal that lay dying on the ground after the hunter's arrow has pierced it.

Darkness had conquered his vision. As far as he could tell, his eyes were open, but he could see nothing. It was as if his eyes had been gashed out. His body was falling, sliding downward, as if into the pits of the abyss. He was falling through pain and darkness. Those were the only things he knew: pain and darkness.

Slowly, the black void shrouding his eyes faded and cleared like fog. Through dizziness, he saw the ground beneath him. He was lying face down in the dirt, which, in the fierce wind, roiled like smoke, smearing black grime across his face, getting in his eyes. He saw dark crimson liquid glinting in the soil beneath him. He saw the flaming light that enveloped everything; reflecting off of the ground, the dirt, the slopes of the blazing volcanoes; making everything burn with an angry and sinister glare; painting the world red, as if it was bleeding, or as if it was on fire. It was as if he were in a furnace, the very heart of an inferno, hell itself.

It was like lying face down in the burning sand of a desert. The ground beneath him burning him as well as the heat above. The sun hanging oppressively low over him, smothering him in its heat, dehydrating his body, suffocating him, slowly burning up his flesh. Yet it was not a sun—there was no sun; the sky was dark and black—but fire exploding from the tops of volcanoes and falling to the ground like toxic rain. Behind him, he knew there was lava, a river of fire; and he knew, as he slid farther down the black slope, that he was getting dangerously close to it. He could feel the heat of it beating upon his back and his legs. If he fell much farther, he feared, he would fall into the lava and burn to death.

Forcing back the pain as he choked on it—his fury and hatred was enough to give him strength despite his wounds and his weakness—he tried to get up.

He couldn't.

He could not even get his legs to move. Neither could he move his left arm, the only real arm he still had. With his mind, he commanded his limbs to bend and to push his body up off of the ground, but they did not obey him. He could not move them. He had lost all control of them. Not until he turned his head and saw the blood soaking his shoulder, not until he looked down and saw the empty space where his legs should have been, did he realize: his limbs were no longer attached to his body.

"You were the Chosen One!" an all too familiar voice yelled over the thunderous roar of the volcanos, the demonic hiss of the lava, and his own agonized cries. With painful effort, he looked up and saw Obi-Wan Kenobi standing there on the slopes above him, looking down at him, his gold hair flying in the harsh wind, anger etched across his ash-stained face, confusion and fear, perhaps even the beginnings of tears, in his clear blue eyes.

Obi-Wan pressed the activator on the side of his lightsaber, and the blue plasma blade disappeared into the metal hilt once more. He looked on his fallen enemy, whom he, himself, had struck down with his weapon, and he could hardly believe his eyes. He could not believe any of this. He could not believe that this was really happening, that, after everything, it would end like this. It was impossible. But it had happened. It was a nightmare. But it was real. Anger and confusion collided inside of him, two reckless waves meeting in a turbulent ocean, and he shouted, "It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them! You were supposed to bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!"

Obi-Wan watched him a moment longer, watching him suffer. He watched him sink the metal fingers of his robotic arm—the only limb he had left—into the dirt and try to pull himself up the slopes away from the river of fire. He watched him grimace in pain and cry out in agony. He watched him struggle and fail to save himself. Every second, Obi-Wan's heart was breaking a little bit—no… a great deal—more. It shattered like glass inside of him, and the broken fragments were cutting up his soul, making it bleed. It hurt. It hurt worse than any bodily pain he had every endured before. It was agony, torture. A wound of the heart is far more painful than a wound of the flesh.

Obi-Wan could not watch anymore. Completely devastated, he turned his back on this fallen man, this fallen _boy,_ and he began to walk away. He would leave him here to die. Alone. In agony. In darkness. Obi-Wan bent down and picked up Anakin's lightsaber.

Anakin clawed his hand into the dirt. With all of the dying strength, and undying will, and immortal hatred that coursed like fire through his broken body, he strained every muscle, braced himself for agony, and made another feeble effort to pull himself up the slope. Instead, the ground gave way beneath him, like loose sand, and he slid down even farther, even closer to the lava: the beast that was starving for blood, waiting with open jaws to swallow him up. Pain shot through his arm and legs like bullets fired from a gun. His face contorted in a hideous expression of excruciation, and he let out a loud cry. A groan, low and muddled, agonized, like a damned soul suffering the torment of perdition.

When this torture faded very slightly, showing him just enough mercy to allow him to breathe, he opened his eyes and raised his face. He saw Obi-Wan walking away. Leaving him. So he was just going to leave him here to suffer and to die in agony!? Had he not even the probity to kill him!? Of course, he didn't. Obi-Wan was weak. He was _cowardly._ He could cut him up and leave him in pieces, but he could not kill him. He could fight him, but he could not finish him. Obi-Wan was a coward. A hypocrite. A liar. A traitor!

Now, because of Obi-Wan, he was going to die here, alone, in torture, and in darkness. Now, because of Obi-Wan, he would not be able to save Padmé. Because of Obi-Wan, his wife and his unborn child were going to die! Because of Obi-Wan, he would lose everything! Everything he lived for and died for, everything he _gave his very soul for,_ he was going to lose because of Obi-Wan! All he ever wanted was to keep his family safe. And now, because of Obi-Wan, everyone he loved was going to die.

Such anger—such _hatred_ —erupted inside of him like he had never felt before. It was like the magma bursting from the peeks of the massive volcanos around them. An inferno as treacherous and terrible as hell, itself, had become his soul. His soul was on fire, burning up and withering in the flames of his hatred, becoming hard, and dark, and black, until it would be no more than a charred and ugly husk of ash.

" _I HATE YOU!_ " he screamed at Obi-Wan. He did not know his own voice. It was not his voice. The voice that flew from his mouth, along with a spray of saliva and blood which painted his lips red and ran down his chin as it would a cannibal's, was the voice of a demon. A fiend dwelling in hell, groaning and whaling in agony and in hatred as he burns in the fires of his own wrath. This sound was the scream of the devil. The scream of a Sith.

Obi-Wan stopped. He turned and looked back. There was no more anger in his face, his eyes, or his heart. Now there was only confusion, grief, despair… Agony. Their eyes met. Obi-Wan's eyes of pure blue looked into eyes that burned red with fury, fire as scorching and lethal as the lava consuming this forsaken planet. The eyes of a Sith. "You were my brother, Anakin," said Obi-Wan. His voice gave way under the weight of his sorrow, and it broke like his fragmented heart. "I loved you."

Anakin stared back at Obi-Wan, unmoved. These words, which a long time ago—no, not actually so long ago—would have touched his heart, could not even reach it. These words meant nothing to him. He felt nothing. He could feel nothing over the reckless tempest of his hatred. Hatred consumed him, like poison conquering him, like a demon possessing him. Any love he used to have for Obi-Wan, his brother, was gone now. Obi-Wan was an enemy. A traitor! The reason his wife and child were going to die. And Anakin hated him.

A flare burst up in the river of liquid flame. Hissing like the serpent, it spit out a lethal rain, vomiting fire onto the land, and Anakin was too close. The snake seduces his prey, and when he gets too close, it devours him. A spray of lava struck Anakin. It fell upon what was left of his severed legs. It went straight through his clothing, as if no fabric covered his body at all, and it dove into his flesh. Immediately, it burned through the skin. It plunged deep into the muscle. Human flesh began to smoke, and hiss, and blister, and boil, and cook, like a piece of meat burning against a stove. A vile reek filled the air. Anakin screamed. His eyes slammed shut, as his teeth grinded together, as his face twisted in unbearable excruciation.

His clothes took fire. The flames swiftly traveled up his body, up his legs, past his waist, onto his back… The fire was merciless. Pitiless. It was a beast, and it was hungry. The lion cares not if his prey whimpers and wails as he eats it.

There are no words to describe such agony, a word of which is far too simple and far too mild to describe the horrendous sensation of being burned alive. Anakin was screaming. He was chocking, gagging, suffocating, on the pain. His body was convulsing in violent spasms as he tried in vain to get away from the fire as it devoured him, as the demons laid hands on him, as the beats ate the flesh off of his bones. He was crying as well.

Obi-Wan could not bear this. Even now, after Anakin betrayed him, and hated him, and tried to kill him, he could not bear this. He could not just stand there and watch as his brother—at least, one who he once called a brother—was burned and tortured to death. He did not hesitate. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, and still the fire had consumed almost half of Anakin's body by the time Obi-Wan got to him. He threw himself on his knees beside Anakin and, without thinking twice, dove his bare hands into the fire. The flames licked at his hands, burning them, but Obi-Wan ignored the pain. He resisted the immediate reflex to withdraw his hands. Instead, he sank his fingers into the blazing fabric and ripped Anakin's burning clothing off of his back.

Flinging the it away, not glancing to see where it landed, he frantically smothered whatever flames were still burning Anakin, extinguishing them with nothing but his hands. Then he beheld with horror the destruction that had come already to what was left of Anakin's body. In only the few seconds that he was on fire, most of the skin was burnt off of Anakin's lower body, halfway up his back down to what was left of his legs. Blood red flesh, raw, and gruesome; the skin bubbled up in blisters wherever there was still skin, smoking and sputtering, flesh boiling like red liquid over a fire; the muscle charred and shriveled wherever the skin was gone; the bones visible where the fire burned completely through the muscle. Anakin was moaning in agony.

Obi-Wan stared at the mangled body before him, stunned, horrorstruck. His hands, covered in painful burns themselves now, trembled as they hovered over Anakin's body. He wanted to help him, somehow to ease his pain, but he was afraid to touch him. If he touched him, he knew it would only make Anakin's suffering worse. What was he to do then? Leave him? He could not leave him here, burning, suffering… No, he would not do it. But what else could he do? _Kill_ Anakin?

A dark shadow befell Obi-Wan's heart, which turned cold. Dread filled his gut, and his soul because like stone. Yes. That is was he had to do. Anakin was an enemy now. A Sith. He had betrayed the Jedi and the Republic. He was a traitor and a murder. Obi-Wan knew all too well what order the Jedi would give him if they knew of this. He knew what he had to do. He had to kill Anakin. He had to kill his brother. He had to. To end Anakin's suffering and to end this war.

Obi-Wan's hand trembled as he reached for his lightsaber. He gripped the metal hilt so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The metal dug into his wounds, and the burns covering his palms screamed in pain. Obi-Wan grasped his weapon tighter. He pressed the activator, and a blade of blue fire sprang up. With trembling arms, he raised his lightsaber over Anakin's broken body.

He would aim for the heart. At least, that way, Anakin would die quickly. But perhaps not quickly enough… Obi-Wan hesitated, second guessing himself. If the blade did not go in just right, it could be minutes of torture before it finally killed him. No, that was a bad idea. He wouldn't risk it. Then he would bring the saber down on the back of his neck. To decapitate him. That was the only way. That way it would be quick. Maybe—he hoped—it would be painless.

Obi-Wan braced himself for pain—agony. As if he, himself, was about to feel the sting of the blade. It was as if he was about to stab himself and end his own life. It was even harder that. In this moment, he knew it would be a hundred times easier to kill himself than to kill Anakin. Yet he had to do it. He did not have a choice…

Like a great ocean wave crashing upon the coast, the lava sprang up again. Obi-Wan threw himself over top of Anakin, protecting him with his body. His hand—red, burned, and blistering—flew up, and he held out his open palm toward the lava, as if to shield himself from its wrath. He used the Force. Instead of falling upon him and setting him too on fire, the flaming liquid was deflected. As if an invisible shield had arisen between the Jedi and the fire, it could not touch him. The Force protected him.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily as he watched fiery magma fall harmlessly to the ground to cool and harden. For only a second, he was relieved. Then fear returned to his heart. Grimly, he looked down at Anakin once more. He was still conscious but just barely. He seemed to be delirious now. He was struggling to move, withering in pain, groaning and grinding his teeth, muttering things that did not make sense.

He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. He knew he could not do it, and so he was just wasting time. He had to move. He had to get out of here. Now! If he did not act at once, both of them would be swallowed up by the fire, and both of them would burn.

Obi-Wan made up his mind. He deactivated his lightsaber and stuffed it back into his belt. He repositioned himself on one knee beside Anakin and took a firm hold on his wounded body. Anakin thrashed violently in attempt to get away. He yelled out in furious agony, but Obi-Wan ignored his cry. Gathering his strength, flexing his muscles, he hoisted Anakin up over his shoulder, and he rose carefully to his feet, holding the dying man on his back. Obi-Wan was strong, and Anakin was not very heavy… and now he was three limbs lighter. Obi-Wan had little trouble.

He carried Anakin. Even after everything that had happened, after all of this pain, and heartbreak, and betrayal, and hatred, and darkness, and death, carrying Anakin out of the fire, it felt right. Anakin carried him once. When they were on their mission against Dooku, Obi-Wan had fallen, and Anakin had carried him to safety, risking his own life rather then leaving his friend to die. Maybe that's why Obi-Wan was doing this now. He was repaying a debt. He was unchaining his conscience. If he left his brother alone to die in agony, Obi-Wan would not be able to live with himself.

He took off in haste. Moving as fast as he could with Anakin on his back, he ran up the ashen slopes, leaving this lethal river behind him, leaving Anakin's detached limbs which lied—white, deoxygenated, and drained of blood—in the dirt. He kept going, through the inferno blazing around them, searching for the ship, searching for an escape… A forlorn soul determined to find a way of out hell.

He did not know where he was. Everything looked the same now. Everywhere he looked there was exploding volcanos, lava, and fire; and everything reflected a glare as red as blood. He slowed down and came to stop. Breathing heavily and with difficultly, he looked around in attempt to recognized _something._ It was hard to breathe in this furnace. The air was thick and hot. It reeked of fire, smoke, blood, and burning human flesh. It was poisoned by toxic fumes. Every breath, he was inhaling smoke, and it was condensing like tar in his lungs. His throat and nasal passages burned, and sharp pain tore through his chest each time he drew a breath. He was tired. Sweat ran in streams down his face and neck. He could feel it dripping down his body. He could feel hot, thick blood draining out onto his back and shoulders, soaking through his white shirt, staining it red, and sticking to his skin. He looked over his shoulder at the body hanging limp, like a corpse, on his back.

Anakin was unconscious now. Unconscious or dead, it was impossible to tell which. All Oni Wan could do was hope he was still alive. …Then again, the grim thought arose in his darkened heart, maybe it would be better if he was dead.

Obi-Wan drew in a deep breath—his chest tightened painfully, as if there was a snake inside of his chest, constricting his lungs—and he started forward again. He had no idea where he was going. He just kept running, trusting his instincts. Trusting the Force.

There! He recognized the base used by the Separatist Council. His eyes darted a bit farther, and he saw the landing strip. He could see the ship. With new hope and strength, he rushed forward, and he did not stop running until he reached the ship and hurried onboard. The doors were already open, the ramp lowered, and C3PO waiting for him in the entrance.

"Master Kenobi!" 3PO greeted him in great relief. "We have Miss Padmé on board. Please, please hurry! We should leave this dreadful place!"

Without a word of reply, Obi-Wan went past the droid and onto the ship. The little astronomic droid of white and blue, R2D2, was waiting at the controls of the ship. As soon as 3PO and Obi-Wan were aboard, he pressed a button and the metal doors slid shut behind them. But Obi-Wan did not join R2 at the front of the ship. He started down the hallway.

"Oh, _my!_ " he heard 3PO exclaim from behind him, as, for the first time, the droid noticed the disfigured corpse he was carrying. "Is that… Is that _Master Anakin!?_ What in the name of the _Maker_ happened to him!?"

Obi-Wan did not answer. He went straight for the medical room. Padmé was already lying in one of the beds. She looked weak, but she was alive. She opened her eyes as Obi-Wan entered the room, and she watched him lay what was left of Anakin's body down in the bed beside her.

"Anakin!" she cried out in sheer terror. She was weak, but at the sight of her dying husband, she found the strength to push herself up into a sitting positon.

Obi-Wan lied Anakin on his stomach, and the frightful burns covering him were visible. The lower half of his back—and his entire body below that—was skinned of flesh, and nothing remained but a gruesome pit of charred muscle, blisters, and sizzling blood. More than half of his legs gone, his arm gone, blood soaking his body… Padmé stared at him, unable to speak. Unable to breathe. She thought she was going to pass out. She didn't. Instead, she looked up at Obi-Wan and screamed, "What have you done to him!?"

"I'm sorry, Padmé," Obi-Wan answered, as he held a hand against Anakin's neck and felt for a pulse. "I didn't want to, but I had no choice."

Anakin's heart was still beating. The pulse was faint, but it was there. Obi-Wan sighed in relief—despite everything he had thought and everything he knew to be true, in the end, he was relieved that Anakin was not gone. "He's alive," he told Padmé without glancing at her. "If we get back to the base in time, we might still be able to save him."

Obi-Wan positioned a plastic breathing mask over Anakin's mouth and nose. He turned a switch on the respirator built into the ship, and oxygen began flowing through the plastic tubes and into Anakin's lungs. "I'll be back," Obi-Wan said, and in urgent haste he left the room.

With effort, Padmé strained her weakened body and managed to get out of bed. She stumbled a few steps across the room and fell to her knees beside Anakin's bed. Kneeling before him, she stared in horror at his wounds. "Anakin…" a thin, quivering whisper fell through her trembling lips. "Ani…" She raised a shaky hand and hesitantly reached toward him, afraid to touch him. She did not want to hurt him. Yet, only the lower half of his body was burned, and she did not see any wounds on his face, except for the scar running down the right side of his forehead and past his eye, a mark that had been there for over a year. She gently touched his forehead and brushed a lock of bronze hair out of his face. "Anakin," she whispered again, but he did not stir. His eyes were closed… and Padmé feared they would not open again.

Obi-Wan reentered carrying a large jug of water in his blistering hands. "Hold him still, Padmé," he said in a grave tone as he approached with the water.

Padmé turned to him in fear. She wanted to protest—as she knew such an order only meant Anakin was going to be put in more pain—but reluctantly, helplessly, with no other choice, she obeyed. She moved closer to Anakin and dared to lay her hands on him, trying hold him still. Her hand was immediately sticky and wet, painted red.

Obi-Wan poured the cold water over Anakin's back, straight into his open wounds. In contrary to water, which was supposed to cool and sooth the burns, it felt as if he had been set on fire all over again. Anakin let out a terrible yell, agonized and wrathful. A frightful hissing noise like the wailing of serpents, like the sizzling of meat as it burns against a skillet, or like the cries of the demons as they burn in hell, rose from his wounds, along with clouds of smoke. Anakin was groaning, panting, wincing, grinding his teeth, thrashing about in attempt to get away, and Padmé had to hold him down.

"Anakin!" she cried in a strained whisper, trying to calm him and comfort him. "Anakin, it's okay. You'll be okay. We're trying to help you."

Anakin heard her voice, and he opened his red, wet eyes. He saw Padmé. Her pretty face was hardly inches away from his. There were tears in her eyes and running down her cheeks. She was alive, and she did not appear hurt. She was with him again. Relief like the sweet waters of life flooded into his blazing soul. Yet, even this water could not extinguish the flames. "Padmé," he choked out through agony. His voice was hoarse and weak, and the breathing mask over his face made it difficult to understand him.

"Shh…" Padmé gently tried to quiet him. She knew it was hard and painful for him to speak. She raised one hand to his face and softly stroked her fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his face. "It's alright, Ani, I'm here. I'm with you. You'll be okay."

Obi-Wan poured the last drops of water over Anakin's burned flesh, and he tossed the jug aside. He shuffled through a medical supply bag until he found cords fit to use as tourniquets, and he twisted them around Anakin's left shoulder and around both of his legs until the ropes were cutting off his circulation and preventing him from losing any more blood. (If a lightsaber was not so hot, if it did not cauterize the flesh when it touched it, Anakin would have bled to death already.) Then, Obi-Wan tied Anakin's mechno-arm to the frame of the bed, making it useless to him, making it impossible to touch Padmé.

"Padmé, don't listen to him!" Anakin cried in desperation, torment, and anger. "He's a lair! He's trying to take you from me! He's trying to destroy us!"

Padmé stared at Anakin in helplessness. She did not know what to do or say. She tenderly pressed her hand against his cheek. "It's going to be alright, Anakin," she whispered as gently as she could, but her voice trembled slightly. "Everything will be alright. Just rest."

Ignoring her entirely, his anger only increasing, Anakin yelled, "Don't trust him, Padmé! He will destroy us and our baby!"

Obi-Wan stuck the needle of a syringe into a vein on Anakin's neck (typically, the needle would go into one of his arm, but Anakin had no arms left) and injected him with a sedative drug. Anakin stiffened slightly as sharp pain pinched his neck, but he did not take his eyes off Padmé. He did not release her from his lethal gaze. "I can save you, Padmé," he told her. His voice was growing softer, fainter. It was desperate. Pleading. His anger was dying with his consciousness. That mask of fury, which is so easy to hide behind, was gone, and for the first time both Padmé and Obi-Wan could see how afraid he was. He was terrified. "I can save you and our baby. Stay with me, Padmé, and I can save you… Please… Stay with me…"

It was disturbing how quickly this drug was taking him. It was fast like poison. Darkness closed in on Anakin's vision. In a matter of seconds, he could not see anything at all. His eyes were closed, as he could no longer hold them open; his ability to hear was fading; and his mind was slipping away from him. The last thing he could remember was Padmé's soft touch and velvet voice.

She lightly laid her head against his. Tears glittered in her eyes. She closed them, and tears ran down her cheeks. She put her lips against his ear and whispered the only thing she still knew to be true: "I love you, Anakin."

That was the last thing Anakin heard before his mind was taken by oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you, everyone, who left reviews, favorited, or followed this story. Thanks also just for reading my work. I really appreciate it. It means a lot to me. Hope you enjoy the next chapter.**

* * *

 **Sworn to Darkness**

CHAPTER II

He was alive. He knew he was alive, because he was in so much pain. Either that or he was in hell. …Which did not seem so unlikely now. …Actually, the latter was probably more likely than the former.

He could hear someone breathing. It was a noise he was no used to. Loud and continuous, slow and raspy. Mechanical. It sounded more like a _machine_ breathing than a man. He did not know how long he lied there listening to the noise, wondering what it could be, before it occurred to him that each inhale and exhale was simultaneous with his own breaths. It was him breathing.

He was still breathing, and every breath was torturous. The airways in his nose, throat, and chest were raw and sore, scored and burnt by inhaling smoke and fire. His lungs ached as well, and they were filled with mucus. With every breath, pain tore through his chest. It hurt to breathe, but he was still breathing. In fact, he did not think he had a choice… He was not trying to inhale, but his lungs were filling with air anyway. He was not trying to breathe, but something was making him.

Anakin weakly opened his eyes. At first, he saw nothing but a black void: an oblivion like the night sky when it is covered with clouds and there is no moon or star to yield light. Slowly, his eyes—red and wet, stinging from the fumes that got into them of Mustafar—adjusted to the darkness, and he could see the room around him.

He had no idea where he was. He did not recognize the place. It was a small confinement, four grey walls of stone, a stone ceiling and floor to match, no windows, only one metal door, which was closed and probably locked. It was like a prison cell. Yet, it was also some sort of medical room. Machines of all types—monitors, fluid drips, devices he could not identify, a respirator—surrounded him, beeping and blinking. Aside from the machines, however, nothing and no one stirred in the darkness around him. He was alone.

Vaguely surprised but unable really to care, with effort, he tried to lift his head. He could not. He could not move any part of his body. Thick belt-like straps were secured over his chest and waist, holding him down. Yet, even if he was not tied down, he did not know if he would be able to move. He was so weak. He felt as if he was paralyzed. As if he was dying. Perhaps, he was.

With his eyes only, he managed to look down at his own body and observed his condition. He was lying on his back on a firm table-like bed. There was a pillow beneath his head but no blanket to cover his body or shield him from the chill. He was dressed in a loose, light robe that was not his. The robe was white: it defiantly was not his. Coming out from under his clothing, several tubes and wires were attached to him, going into a vein on his neck, or a vain on his bicep, or a vein in his thigh, whatever was left of his arms and legs; and they connected him to the machines around the bed. The sleeves of his robe had been cut off, and his arms, which were (not surprisingly) tied down with cords and metal cuffs, were exposed. Both of them—his right arm from the elbow down, and his left arm from about halfway up his bicep down—were fake now. Metal, reflecting whatever murky light filled the room, glared at him where flesh used to be. Under the robe that concealed his body, he could see the shape of his legs, which looked real enough under this fabric, but he knew they were fake too. It seemed he was more machine than man now.

There was a mask over his mouth and nose, and the thick plastic tube going down his throat was very uncomfortable. Rubbing against the already sore tissue that lined his airways, it was painful. The more conscious and alert he became, the more his senses awoke, the more painful it was. It was awful. It was choking him. But it was keeping him alive. The respirator was feeding air down the tube, down his throat and into his burnt lungs, forcing them to expand and fill with oxygen, forcing him to breathe even though he was too weak to breathe by himself.

He was in a lot of pain, and his lungs were far from the worst of it. His entire body radiated with pain. His severed limbs, and especially his back and lower body, where the fire had attacked him… It was hard to decide where the pain was the worst. If it were not for the drugs flowing into his veins and dulling his wits and dulling the pain, it would have been unbearable.

 _Padmé!_ Like a bolt of lightning, the thought struck him, and he remembered everything that had happened on Mustafar. He remembered fighting with Padmé, trying and failing to convince her to stay with him; he remembered getting angry and, in his fury, using the Force to choke her, and Padmé collapsing unconscious to the ground. But she was alight! He had not meant to hurt her, and he did not think he had. He saw her again after that, and she was conscious, and she did not look hurt. She spoke to him and gently touched his face. She acted as if she was not even angry at him. Whether she was angry or not did not matter. These things alone mattered: Padmé was still alive, and Padmé still loved him. He remembered clearly: her soft lips brushing against his ear and her silken voice whispering just before he lost consciousness, "I love you, Anakin." He would never forget that.

Padmé was alive. He could still save her. That was a heavy weight lifted off of his heart, but he could not afford to be relieved yet. Padmé was alive, but where was she? Probably with Obi-Wan, who was doing everything in his power to turn her against him, to take her from him forever. Anakin had to get to her. Fast! Yet, it was impossible. He was imprisoned. He could not move.

In refusal to give in, he flexed his weakened muscles and strained against the cords holding him down. The pain increased, and the restrains did not yield even slightly. He tried to free his wrists, fighting to break free with these new, robotic limbs. Again, his efforts proved to be futile. Within minutes, he was exhausted, breathless, panting, sweating, lightheaded, cringing in pain as it tortured him, and no closer to getting free. He refused to give in. He kept trying. He closed his eyes and concentrated with all of his will, and strength, and anger, and hatred, and he tried to use the Force to break free… It was useless. Evidently, his captors had anticipated an escape attempt like this, and his bonds were already ceiled by a different side of the Force. Either the Dark Side was not stronger, or he, himself, was simply too weak.

The door slid open. He turned his head. At least, he tried to turn his head. Instead, sharp pain cut through his throat, and the plastic tube in his windpipe gagged him. The mask over his face did not permit him to move his head. Choking, his eyes starting to water, he struggled to see across the room. Two figures entered through the door, which instantly slammed shut behind them. Droids. It was pair of medical droids that he did not recognize. He did not know them. However, by the mere construction of them—the shiny metal, the light colored paint, the rounded, more human-like shape of their heads—he knew that these were the Jedi's droids, not Palpatine's. A flare of anger sprang up inside of him, as it was confirmed: he was now a prisoner of the Jedi. He was a prisoner of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

 _Where is Padmé!?_ he immediately tried to demand, but he found that he could not speak with this mask over his face, this piece of plastic in his throat. He gagged again.

The droids hardly glanced at him. Without a word, they crossed the room, came upon him, and got to work. One of them began pressing buttons and turning switches on the machines, doing something—he could not begin to guess what—while the other adjusted the amount of medication flowing into the IV in his right arm. At once, Anakin's tense body relaxed, and he let out a deep sigh, as the drug entered his body, and the pain lessened. It felt like there was a thousand pounds piled on top of him, smothering and crushing him. Now, however, a portion of that weight was born away.

Yet, this drug did not just bring pain relief. It also brought drowsiness and unconsciousness. Within seconds, Anakin could feel the sedatives pulling his mind back down into that dark void of oblivion once more. He fought against it. With all of his will—with all of his _anger_ , as that is what gives a Sith strength—he tried to resist. Maybe out of spite. Maybe to prove that, even when he was imprisoned, tied down, helpless, and broken in pieces, he would not surrender to the Jedi. He would not stop fighting them. He was stronger than them. Even now, he was stronger than Obi-Wan.

Nonetheless, despite his refusal to stop fighting, he was fighting a losing battle. These drugs were strong. They were not stronger than his hatred or his will, but they were stronger than his weak body, and they were conquering him. His eyes were hard to keep from closing. Every time he blinked, it was harder to reopen his eyelids.

 _No! I won't give in,_ he thought defiantly. _I won't let them knock me out like this. I am stronger than this. I am strong than them._

He remembered telling himself that, and the next thing he was aware of, he was opening his eyes and waking up again, hours—if not days—later.

The next few days were awful. At least, Anakin presumed it to be a few days. It was impossible to know exactly how much time had passed. There was no day or night in this stone tomb in which they had buried him alive. It was like being underground, buried in the dirt, in a grave. Time dragged on. Slowly. Painfully. It was endless night, as if the sun had been destroyed, and this system was doomed to live in darkness for the rest of eternity. And who could guess how long eternity would last before it came to an end?

In this time, Anakin was almost always alone. Alone in that dark, cold room, tied down to this stiff-cushioned bed, suffering, failing each time he tried to get away, just waiting for something to happen. He saw no one but the droids, who came in from time to time to give him more drugs and knock him unconscious, to check his heartrate, his blood pressure, his temperature, and about a twenty other things being monitored on the screens beside his bed, to listen to his lungs (as if they could not hear him breathing already; this respirator was so loud Anakin could barely hear himself think over the noise), and to examine his arms and legs where the fake limbs had been bonded to his real flesh as to ensure infection did not occur. If they were monitoring the burn wounds that consumed his back and lower body, which were constantly hurting and tormenting him, they were doing so when Anakin was unconscious. He had no knowledge of it.

It was—Anakin guessed, merely trusting his instincts to draw this conclusion—four or five days, depending on what planet he was on, before anything changed. Then, at last, he opened his eyes after awakening from a deep, drug-induced sleep, and at once he knew something was different. He could breathe again. He could breathe freely. His throat still ached, but that ridged piece of plastic was not digging into it any more, choking him whenever he tried to speak. He could turn his head now as well. That horrible mask over his face, that tube in his throat, that machine pumping air into his lungs, that respirator which was saving him, keeping him alive, but choking him and somehow smothering him at the same time, was gone. That was a great relief. Anakin was beginning to fear he would have to wear that thing forever. Instead, thin tubes were going into his nose, giving him oxygen but allowing him to breathe for himself.

He drew in a deep breath, breathing, at last, on his own accord, and he filled his lungs until they would expand no more. Air had never tasted so sweet. It is funny, how one does not realize how precious each small aspect of life—each breath—is, until it is taken away from him.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply—through his mouth, as to taste real air and not the air stored up in tanks on the other end of those tubes—relishing this divinity, this simple and incredible pleasure of breathing. He filled his lung to the brim, until they would overflow or burst. It hurt his chest, and he was immediately struck with the reflex to cough up the mucus that had gathered in his lungs. Each breath was laborious, difficult. Yet, oddly, he did not mind the struggle or the pain as it tore through him. In some ways, it was glad for it. It reminded him that he was alive. That his body was broken, but his spirit was not. That he still had a mission, and he would complete it. He would not fail. Through pain, and darkness, and fire—even through death—he would keep going, and he would not give in. He would never give in.

"Anakin."

His eyes flew open. He turned his head so sharply that he hurt something in his neck. Then he saw him. He was standing beside the bed, looming over him, looking down at him. Dressed all in white, his arms crossed over his chest, browning burns visible on his fingers, bandages wrapped tightly around his hands and wrists, concealing wounds he received to save his enemy, or what was left of him. He watched Anakin with a cold gaze like a blade of ice. His blue eyes watched him closely, studying and penetrating him.

Fury erupted in Anakin's heart anew, and in less than a second the Sith had returned to conquer his soul. "Obi-Wan!" he cried out in anger. Once again, his voice was different. This time, however, it was weak. It was hoarse and strained, and it crackled like the burning remains of a dying fire. It hurt his throat to speak. With difficultly, he shouted, "Where is Padmé!?"

Obi-Wan was not fazed by Anakin's outburst or by the murderous glare he fixed on him. His manner remained unperturbed, and his expression remained serious. He was quiet for a moment before he answered calmly, "She is safe."

" _Where_ is she!?" Anakin yelled again. Obi-Wan did not rush to answer, but even if he had, he would have been unable, as without pause Anakin went on in fury, "I won't let you take her from me, Obi-Wan! She is _mine!_ Do you hear me? I need her with me! I can help her; I can save her!"

"Save her?" Obi-Wan repeated coolly, raising his eyebrows as if in amusement. Obi-Wan was infuriating. He had always been infuriating. He always treated him like he was a child, like everything he had to say was ignorant and foolish. Obi-Wan always thought he was so high above Anakin, as if he was so much wiser, so much stronger. Seeing this arrogance in Obi-Wan again now, it only made Anakin hate him more. "And what is it you are trying to save her from?"

"She's going to die, Obi-Wan!" Anakin did not know where this cry came from. It was not from the hatred burning in him. The fury was still there, but that was not wat compelled him to shout this. In his utter terror, this overwhelming and overpowering fear, the very fear that obliged him to turn to the Dark Side in the first place, Anakin cried out in desperation. Before he knew what he was saying, he was spilling everything to Obi-Wan. "She's going to die! I've seen it! I've had dreams, just like the dreams I had before my mother died. Padmé is going to die giving birth to our child. But with the Dark Side I can save her, so I don't have a choice! I have to save her! I won't let her die!"

Obi-Wan's expression changed, surprised and interested in this new information. A look of concern came into his eyes. "Padmé?" he repeated. "You have seen her die in childbirth?"

"Yes!" Anakin snapped curtly, and repulsed by the Jedi and their unfeeling, heartless, _selfish_ council, he spat in disgust, "I went to the Jedi for help, and they told me to 'let go of what you fear to lose.' That's how noble the Jedi are. People mean nothing to them. The only thing they care about is themselves, the Council, and keeping power. That is why I've left them, Obi-Wan." There was fire in Anakin's eyes as he glared at the Jedi and finished in hatred, "That is why I'm never going back!"

Obi-Wan stared at Anakin, unsure what to say. His face remained hard to read, and Anakin could see he was doing everything to him power to keep his expression indifferent. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan could not hide the undeniable sadness in his eyes. Finally, he opened his lips and asked slowly, softly, "Who told you that?"

"Yoda told me that," Anakin harshly replied. "I asked him for help, and he told me to let her die!"

Obi-Wan was quiet. "Why didn't you tell me about these dreams you were having?" he asked after a short pause.

Anakin glared at Obi-Wan. "You would have said the same thing as Yoda. Just like you did on Geonosis, when Padmé fell from our ship and you told me to leave her. If I asked you to help me, Obi-Wan, you would have told me to let her die."

Obi-Wan did not say anything. For a long time, he was silent. He dropped his gaze to the ground and let out a heavy breath. "And Palpatine told you he knows how to save Padmé, and he said he will help you if you join him on the Dark Side," he said, putting the pieces together and understanding. It shocked him when he learned Anakin had turned to the Dark Side, and he could not begin to fathom why he would do such a thing. Now, however, it all made sense.

"We _will_ save Padmé," Anakin angrily corrected him. "The Dark Side is strong, Obi-Wan. Stronger than you can imagine."

Obi-Wan looked up at Anakin once more. He stared at him, his glare like a knife. "No, it isn't," he said flatly. "That is what Palpatine has made you believe, because that is what he wants you to believe."

"It's true, Obi-Wan. I have seen the Dark Side's power myself."

"Have you really?" Obi-Wan replied, assuming a superior, almost _mocking,_ air. "I can see the Dark Side has made you _very_ powerful, Anakin. It gave you the strength to betray your friends, murder defenseless Younglings, and attempt to kill a man who trained you since you were a child…" Obi-Wan looked Anakin straight in the eye. "…a man who _trusted_ you."

Anakin glared back into Obi-Wan's eyes. He gritted his teeth. For a fleeting moment, he was not sure what he felt pass through his heart like a bullet. It was painful. It was… guilt. Just as soon as he realized it was there, he remembered his wrath toward this man, who had taken everything from him, and he slaughter any regret, any repentance, in his heart with his hatred.

"And look where it left you," Obi-Wan continued sardonically, only adding to Anakin's fury. He walked slowly around Anakin's bed, as if only to belittle him even more, as he spoke. "Here you are, captured by the Jedi, your limbs gone, half of the skin on your body burnt off, tied down to a bed, too weak even to free yourself with the Force. I can see the Dark Side has made you _very_ strong."

Anakin's hatred burned like fire inside of him as he watched Obi-Wan circle around the bed. If he was not so weak, if his powers were not drained, Obi-Wan would have been suffocating as Anakin choked him with the Force. Anakin wanted to shout something back at him, to scream at him, to _hurt_ him. But he could do nothing but glare at him. He could not even say anything to contradict him, because what Obi-Wan said was true.

"At least, Palpatine is _trying_ to help me and Padmé!" Anakin yelled in rage. "The Jedi do not even care if she dies! They would _rather_ me let her die!"

" _Anakin,_ " Obi-Wan protested, sighing deeply, shaking his head and closing his eyes. He came to the Anakin's bedside once more. This time, instead of standing over him and looking down on him, derogating him, Obi-Wan knelled beside the bed. He and Anakin were at eyelevel, face to face. Obi-Wan looked directly into Anakin's eyes and said very slowly, very clearly, "Palpatine is _lying to you_. He cannot save Padmé—"

"How do you know that!? You know nothing of the Dark Side!"

"I know that Palpatine is a traitor and a lair," Obi-Wan immediately shot back, his voice hardening but not to the point of anger. "He betrayed all of us. The Jedi, and the Senate, and millions of innocent people, who are now dead because of him." His voice became soft as he finished, "Once Palpatine has what he wants, he willbetray you too, Anakin."

"No, he won't! I am the only of the Jedi who _did not_ betray Palpatine; why would he turn on me!? He is my master, my _friend!_ "

Obi-Wan stared at him and spoke in a voice like stone, "So was I. Yet, that did not stop you from betraying me."

For only a moment—a fraction of a moment—a pang of regret hit Anakin's heart. He forced himself to ignore it. He shook his head violently… which caused his entire skull to pulsate with excruciating pain. The pain only fueled his anger. He glowered at the man before him. "You are wrong, Obi-Wan. The Emperor will not betray me." He gritted his teeth and added bitterly, "While all of you Jedi are doing nothing, Palpatine is helping me."

"He is _using you_ , Anakin," Obi-Wan cried. "He is using you for your power. That is the only reason he ever pretended to be your friend." He shook his head, unable to understand Anakin. "How can you not see that? Palpatine does not care about you, or Padmé, or your child." He paused for a second before he added gravely, "Even if Palpatine knew how to save her, he wouldn't."

"How can you say that?" Anakin demanded in a low hiss. "None of the Jedi have tried to help Padmé at all. You have no reason and no right to say that about Palpatine!"

"Padmé is a threat to Palpatine," Obi-Wan answered simply. "As long as she is alive, there is a chance that she will persuade you to return to our side. And so he will not save her. Even if he could." Obi-Wan spoke slowly, certainly, "Palpatine is not your friend, Anakin. He is a cunning snake, and he is trying to seduce you. To trick you. Do. Not. Listen to him."

Anakin stared into Obi-Wan's eyes. He searched them deeply, searching for any sign of falsity, or deceit, or trickery… He saw none. He saw only honestly in the Jedi's eyes. He saw the face of a man who was asking him, _begging_ him to believe him. Obi-Wan was not lying. Whether he was mistaken or not was a different matter, but Obi-Wan believed he was telling the truth. He was sincerely, truly, trying to help Anakin. For the first time, Anakin's hard, dark, cold heart was softened enough that he realized… Obi-Wan might be right…

"I was hardly more than a boy when I began training you, Anakin," Obi-Wan said quietly. "We have been like brothers since we were children. _Trust_ me."

Anakin did not answer. He continued to look into Obi-Wan's eyes for a long time… His eyes shifted slightly, and he saw the bandages on Obi-Wan's hands. Obi-Wan had nearly killed him, but then he had saved his life. Anakin sighed and looked away. "Where is Padmé?" he asked again, softer this time.

Obi-Wan hesitated. He rose to his feet and crossed his arms. At last he answered evenly. "She is safe."

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan. A faint gleam of anger—a low-burning fire; the flame was small, but even a spark can grow to become an inferno—had reappeared in his eyes and in his soul. "Tell me where she is, Obi-Wan," he said slowly. His tone was low and dangerous, like the warning growl of a wolf as he considers an attack.

"She is safe," Obi-Wan said again, unyieldingly. "For now, that is all you need to know."

That quickly, the tension had returned between them. A tension like that which is present before a pair of adversaries draw their weapons and fight to the death. It was thick in the air, so think that they could feel it separating them like a stone wall. Anakin glared into Obi-Wan's eyes. He looked past the stony exterior and into his very thoughts… Obi-Wan was trying hard to conceal his feelings, but he was not strong enough. Anakin could see through him.

"She is here, isn't she?" Anakin realized. As soon as he said this, he knew it was true. If his senses were not enough to confirm it, the look that flicked through Obi-Wan's eyes was. "She is here. I can feel it."

Obi-Wan did not answer. He dropped his gaze and looked at the floor.

"Let me see her," Anakin demanded, a dangerous edge like a knife's blade coming into his voice. "Obi-Wan, let me see her!"

"You are not ready to see her, Anakin," Obi-Wan refused, looking up to meet Anakin's gaze once more. "It is still too dangerous. For both of you. Once you have come to your senses and renounced the Dark Side, then we will let you see Padmé."

"Let me see her now, Obi-Wan!" Anakin cried, his voice rising. His anger—his _fury_ —was rising as well. "You cannot keep her from me! She is my wife, _mine!"_

His wife? So Anakin and Padmé had been married after all. Anyone else on the Council might have been shocked, but Obi-Wan was not surprised. He did not know Anakin and Padmé were married, but, for a long time, almost two years now, he knew there was a very close relationship between the senator and the Jedi… and he suspected it went deeper than the Jedi Code would allow. When he first heard rumor that Senator Amidala was pregnant, Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, who was standing beside him. For a second, he almost asked him, but he didn't. It was better not to know, he decided. Because, in his heart, he knew Anakin was breaking the Code. It was Obi-Wan's duty to report such violation to the Council, but he didn't. Instead, he turned a blind eye to it. He knew they would expel Anakin from the Order, and Anakin was like his brother. He loved Anakin too much to do that. He could not hurt him like that.

"That is enough, Anakin," Obi-Wan said calmly.

Anakin shouted in rage, "You will not take her from me!"

Obi-Wan had heard enough. He could see that he was not going to get anywhere like this. So he sighed and turned his back on Anakin. Without a word, he started across the room, heading for the door.

"Obi-Wan!" Anakin yelled furiously after him. "Don't you walk away from me, Obi-Wan Kenobi! Coward!"

Obi-Wan did not stop. He did not even glance over his shoulder. Anakin's fury doubled. It was like fire inside of him. It was devouring his soul once more.

"You won't take her, Obi-Wan!" he screamed. "The Dark Side is stronger! I _will_ save her!"

Obi-Wan stepped outside. The metal doors slammed shut behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Happy Star Wars Day, eveyone. May the fourth be with you.**

 **Thanks again to everyone supporting me and reading my story, leaving feedback, following, favoriting, etc. I really appreciate it.**

* * *

 **Sworn to Darkness**

CHAPTER III

"Let me see him!" Padmé cried as soon as the doors closed behind the Obi-Wan.

She was standing outside of Anakin's medical room and prison cell. She had not moved from that spot since they arrived here five days ago. Even through the surgeries, even when they were operating on Anakin, completing disturbing and gruesome procedures, even when Obi-Wan told Padmé not to watch, she had not taken her eyes off of him. She had not slept. She had not eaten. She could do nothing but stand there, desperate and terrified, her eyes transfixed on her dying husband, as she wondered if they could save his life. As she wondered if they could save his soul.

Yoda and Organa were presently beside her. They had gathered outside the cell to watch Obi-Wan's confrontation with Anakin. From the inside of that room, all four walls appeared to be made of stone. It was, however, an illusion. From the outside, one could see the reality of it: only three walls were stone and the fourth was, in fact, a thick window of sound-proof, blaster-proof glass. (They could hear everything that was being said inside that cell, because of the speaker outside the room and the monitors beside Anakin's bed.) Looking through the glass now, they watched Anakin strain against the cords and cuffs holding him down and make yet another attempt to get away, in result only putting himself in more pain.

Obi-Wan sighed and braced himself for a fight as approached the others and raised his eyes face Padmé. The young woman—former queen, former senator (there was no senate now), former wife of a Jedi, current wife of a Sith, and future mother of his child—stood rigidly before him. Her hands were clenched in fists by her sides. Her eyes were like fire: in the turmoil of her desperation, confusion, anger, and devastation, her heart started to burn and caught flame. Meeting her gaze, Obi-Wan knew she was ready for a fight as well.

However, despite her spiritual strength, she was physically weak. She did not look well. Her eyes were dark in exhaustion, and her pretty face had not a trace of makeup left upon it. Her long brown hair fell in slightly tousled waves down her back, untouched since Mustafar. She wore a white gown, similar to the one Anakin was wearing now, and her pregnant stomach was unmistakable beneath it, swollen and protruding. Her nine months were almost complete now. Within weeks, the baby would be born. Yet, despite all of this, Padmé was no less beautiful.

Obi-Wan glanced at Yoda. The two of them were the only Jedi left, as Palpatine had betrayed and murdered the others… Anakin had killed most them himself. Yoda met Obi-Wan's eyes for a moment and looked away without a word. He had nothing to say. Organa did not speak either. Yet, all of them had come to same grim understanding. Obi-Wan sighed as he turned and looked at Padmé.

"It is too dangerous, Padmé," he answered with a heavy heart. "Anakin is still weak, but his strength is returning to him. He is powerful, and he is reckless. If you go in that room now, you endanger yourself and your baby."

"Anakin won't hurt me, Obi-Wan," Padmé declared with certainty, looking straight into Obi-Wan's eyes, almost aggressively. Her voice was firm. Strong. Fearless.

Obi-Wan was not convinced. He crossed his arms over his chest and replied coldly, "On Mustafar, Anakin used the Force to choke you."

"That was different!" Padmé cried out in protest, desperate and angry. "He was not trying to hurt me; he just got angry—"

"He is angry now, Padmé! He is more hatful now than he has ever been, more _dangerous._ When I was in that room, I could feel him trying to use the Force to choke me. If he was a little stronger, he would have." A cold gravity befell Obi-Wan's face, and his voice became like ice. "Already Anakin is _very_ strong with the Dark Side."

Padmé stared at Obi-Wan, her emotions conflicting inside of her. Her immediate impulse was to defend Anakin, to tell Obi-Wan that he was wrong, to refuse to believe these things that she knew, in her heart, were true. No words came to her. She did not know what to say. Or to believe. Her eyes were very red now, and she was in danger of crying all over again. She looked away from Obi-Wan and fixed her gaze on Anakin once more. He was cringing as he weakly struggled against the restrains. He was in a lot of pain.

Padmé shook her head. Without a glance at Obi-Wan, she spoke in a trembling voice no stronger than a whisper, "Anakin won't hurt me." Perhaps, she was still in denial.

Obi-Wan turned his head and looked through the glass as well. Anakin was suffering. It was painful just to see him in such agony. Obi-Wan turned over his shoulder and quietly told one of the medical droids to sedate Anakin… before he ended up killing himself. He answered Padmé softly, "Even if he does not do it on purpose, he could get angry and hurt you or the child without meaning to."

Padmé did not answer. She did not know what to say. She watched the droid enter Anakin's cell. Without a word, he crossed the room—Anakin shouted threats at him, but the droid ignored him—and adjusted the controls on the machines beside his bed. A gush of drugs entered Anakin's body, and, within seconds, the sedatives began to pull him under. The droid left as Anakin fell unconscious.

Padmé swallowed with difficulty. She opened her lips, and a trembling breath fell through them. She struggled to keep her voice even. She struggled to hold back tears. "I want to be there when he wakes up."

Obi-Wan, Organa, and Yoda turned their heads simultaneously and looked at Padmé, all of them thinking the same thing but all of them hating to be the one to have to say it. Feeling obliged, as he was by far the closest to both Anakin and Padmé, Obi-Wan spoke up, "We cannot allow that. Padmé, I forbid it."

"That is not your right to forbid, Obi-Wan!" Padmé snapped without warning. She turned abruptly—almost as if ready fight him—to Obi-Wan. Challenging him, glaring at him, she looked him in the eye. "I am not asking you; I am telling you! I am going to see Anakin!"

At this point, Obi-Wan neither wanted to argue with Padmé nor knew what to say to her. So Yoda, who was older, and wiser, and stronger, and less companionate, spared him the burden. "See him through the glass you can," he intervened. His words were blunt and merciless, each of them like a bullet going straight into Padmé's already-broken heart.

Padmé was in severe danger of weeping now. Her eyes were already filled with tears, and she was doing everything in her power to fight them back and prevent them from falling. She knew she was fighting a losing battle. Nonetheless, trying to be strong, she met Yoda's pitiless gaze. "This is my choice," she stated firmly. "Anakin is _my_ husband and the father of _my_ child. I should be able to decide what happens to us."

"Impossible," Organa objected, shaking his head.

"Your husband Skywalker may be," Yoda immediately refuted Padmé as well, "but _our_ prisoner he is. And a traitor, and a murder, and a Sith."

That was enough to break whatever was left of Padmé's heart. She opened her lips in attempt to say something, but she could not. Immediately her throat contracted into a knot, as if Anakin was choking her with the Force all over again, and she was unable to speak. Instead, a muffled choking noise—a sob which she tried to stifle—emitted from the back of her throat. Tears spilt out of her eyes and flowed in slow streams down her cheeks.

"It is because you are so close to him that we cannot include your vote in this matter," Organa explained to Padmé, trying to make her understand. "Your love for him impairs your judgment." There was more compassion, more gentleness, in him than there was in Yoda. His words did not sting quiet as bad. But they still hurt.

"If anyone else this traitor was," Yoda said in brutal honesty, "want him executed you would as well."

The truth had never hurt so terribly.

"Executed!" Padmé exclaimed. A blade of terror pierced her in the heart. She stared at Yoda and Organa in horror, waiting for one of them to deny what she feared—what she knew—Yoda was suggesting. When they said nothing, Padmé's wide, teary gaze darted to Obi-Wan.

He was not looking at her. He was staring at Yoda and Organa as well. There was a glint of alarm in his eyes, but he managed to conceal most of his fear. "That is enough, Master Yoda," he boldly spoke out against his own master. What was even more astonishing: Yoda obeyed. It seemed now—now when there were only two Jedi, only two senators defiantly on their side, and no Republic—there were no ranks amongst the survivors.

"When all of this is sorted out, Anakin will receive a fair trial, just like any other member of the Council would. You have no need and no right to speak of execution now, Yoda," Obi-Wan said with firm authority. Then, he glanced quickly at Padmé, who sighed heavy in relief and gratitude.

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she met his gaze and silently thanked him with everything she had left in her soul. At this moment, she could have fell to her knees before him and kissed the hymn of his robe, a servant to her king. Instead, she could only look into his eyes and hope he understood.

"No more is the Council, young Master Kenobi," Yoda answered gravely, unmoved by Obi-Wan's protest. "At war we are. Means and time for a trial there is not. If return to the Light Anakin—or shall I say, _Darth Vader—_ "

Those words—that name—pierced both Padmé and Obi-Wan like the bitter and brutal blade of winter. Like an icy gust of wind, it went straight through them, hitting their skin and burning it like fire, freezing their flesh, chilling their blood, penetrating them to the very bone, until their skeletons trembled. Painful tremors tore through their bodies. Their hearts lurched as shards of ice grew inside of them.

Darth Vader. Who was this man, this Sith, called Darth Vader? Padmé did not know him. Obi-Wan did not know him. Darth Vader was a stranger. A murderer. A monster. This man—this devil—that had come and conquered Anakin. Vader had destroyed him. Killed him.

No! Anakin was not dead. Not yet. He had fallen; he was _wounded._ But he was not dead. He was not gone. Not yet. They could still save him. There was still goodness in him.

"—will not, no other option will there be but to—"

"Anakin will return to the Light!" Padmé interrupted before Yoda could finish, before he could deliver another blow like a bullet to her bleeding heart. Before he could speak of putting Anakin to death.

Yoda shook his head. "Impossible it is. Deranged by the Dark Side Skywalker is. Once a Jedi turns to the Dark Side, return from it he cannot. Too late it is already."

"I don't believe that," objected Padmé. She refused to believe it. In desperation, she turned to Obi-Wan, who alone, it seemed, was on her side. "Obi-Wan, _please!_ " she frantically pleaded. "Please, just let me see him; let me talk to him; I can convince him to come back to the Good Side, I know it! Just let me see him!" Tears rolled down her red cheeks as she stood helplessly before these men and begged them to let her see her husband… before it was too late. She looked into Obi-Wan's eyes once more before she said in a broken whisper, "Please…"

Obi-Wan did not answer right away. He continued to look into Padmé's grieving eyes for a long moment. He dropped his gaze and let out a weighty sigh. Then he looked up at Yoda and Organa. Without words, they understood what was being asked. Were they to let Padmé into that room to see Anakin? Were the great and terrible risks worth the possible and unlikely success?

Before, Obi-Wan did not think so, but now… Now, he saw the whole truth for what it was. If they did not convince Anakin to renounce the Dark Side and return to the Light, he would be executed for sure. Anakin was too dangerous and too powerful to be kept alive. They could give him a fair trial, but what was the sense? All of them already knew what the verdict would be. Unless they could convert him, they would have to kill him. Obi-Wan would have to kill his own brother. He could not let that happen. Somehow, they would have to convert Anakin. That was the only option. And Padmé, he realized, was the only way.

If they were going to vote, Obi-Wan would vote yes. Despite the dangers.

"Extremely dangerous it would be," Yoda finally spoke. However, despite his warning, it seemed he too was considering taking that chance.

"And if something is to happen to the baby," Organa added, just as hesitant to agree, "all hope for the Galaxy may be lost. Master Kenobi and Master Yoda are the only Jedi left, and they may not outlive the Empire. It could be generations before there is strength enough to bring down Palpatine and his armies. And if this is so, Skywalker's child will be the last Jedi… the last hope."

Obi-Wan shook his head in protest… even though he knew Organa's words to be true. "We will be right here, watching from outside the room," he pointed out. "If Padmé or her child are endangered at any time, we will intervene before any harm comes to them." Organa nodded in agreement and reassurance, and Obi-Wan turned to him and added, "Besides, Padmé was a member of the Senate, same as you, Organa. She should have a say in this matter as well." …In contradiction to everything Yoda and Organa had said and Obi-Wan had agreed with just a few minutes ago.

"Anakin won't hurt me," Padmé, who had gotten ahold of herself enough to hold back her tears and speak without breaking down all over again, said. Just as she had before, he said this with uttermost certainty. "He only listened to Palpatine in the first place, because he was trying to protect me and our baby. He won't do anything to hurt us. He _loves_ us."

Obi-Wan nodded, satisfied with this very genuine point and more than ready to agree with Padmé. "Padmé may be our only hope," he said, countering Organa, who believed her child to be the only hope. "Anakin loves her more than anything else in the galaxy, to the point that he was willing to sell his soul to darkness for the possibility of saving her. If anyone can convince him to return to Light, it is her."

"And Anakin is very strong," Padmé anxiously joined in. "With his help, maybe we can still beat Palpatine."

At last, Yoda nodded. Reluctantly but nonetheless, he said, "I agree." Padmé and Obi-Wan tried not to make it too obvious when they simultaneously sighed in relief.

"She should be there when he wakes," Organa said, agreeing with Padmé. "There will be less time for his anger to grow."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I agree. Anakin was given only a small dosage this time. He will likely be awake within the next half hour. Padmé should go in now." The others agreed. Obi-Wan turned to Padmé and met her eyes. "Come with me."

She followed him a short distance to the door of Anakin's cell, and she expected him to open it for her to enter. Instead, he muttered in a low voice, "You did not tell me that you and Anakin had been married."

Padmé did not answer. She glanced at Obi-Wan out of the corner of her eye and found that he was already staring at her, waiting for an explanation. "Of course, I didn't," she muttered uncomfortably. "I did not want the Council to expel him…" She trailed off. She knew it was a poor excuse. Even after Obi-Wan told her that he knew Anakin was father of her child—which would defiantly get him expelled, which was even more likely to get him expelled if they were _not_ married—she did not tell him. She did not tell him, because she did not know if she could trust him.

Obi-Wan sighed. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the others were not listening. Then he turned back to Padmé and stepped closer to her. "Padmé…" he began in a whisper.

She stiffened as he got closer and grudgingly looked up into his eyes. "Yes?" She stared at him nervously, waiting of him to speak, not knowing what to expect.

"Did you know about the dreams Anakin was having?" he asked quietly.

"I…" She hesitated. She sighed and looked away. "…Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" There was no anger or accusation in his voice, but, nonetheless, Padmé felt as if he blamed her for this.

"Because…" she stammered a moment. She looked up suddenly into his eyes and burst out, "Because I don't know who I can trust anymore, Obi-Wan! How am I supposed to know who I can trust? The Chancellor betrayed the Senate, Anakin betrayed the Jedi, the Jedi betrayed Anakin, you cut off his legs, and I— I don't know who to trust! I don't know what to believe!"

"Padmé," Obi-Wan said gently. To her astonishment, he was not angry with her. He was not even disappointed in her. "I understand. And I do not blame you." How could he? Padmé's own husband had turned on her. The man she loved and trusted most of all had betrayed her. How, then, could she trust anyone? "I know it is hard, and you do not know who you can trust, but I swear to you…" Obi-Wan looked into her eyes and promised, "you can trust me. I am on your side. And Anakin's."

Padmé hesitated. She did not know who she could trust, or who she could believe, or what she should think, or what she should do… But looking into his eyes now, she trusted Obi-Wan. Slowly… she nodded. She agreed to trust this man.

Obi-Wan returned the nod, and his heart sighed in relief. A few moments later, Padmé realized she was relieved too. She was no longer on her own. She had Obi-Wan on her side. She could trust him, she realized now with confidence. Of course, she could trust him. He loved Anakin too. He and Anakin were brothers. Obi-Wan, too, had been betrayed by his family. He too was devastated. He, alone, understood what Padmé was going through now.

"This is not over yet, Padmé," Obi-Wan assured her. "There is still hope for Anakin, despite what Yoda thinks. I knew him best of all—far better than Yoda—and I believe he will turn from the Dark Side. There is still light in him Padmé, I know it."

"I know it too," Padmé asserted. "He is a good person, Obi-Wan, he's just… he's just…" Her voice faded to a whisper. "…gotten lost…"

Obi-Wan nodded. He knew very well this was true. Anakin was lost. Deceived and mislead, he strayed from the path of the light, and now he wandered hopelessly in darkness. Padmé alone was a northern star that could still reach him and give him direction. "Anakin is lost," he agreed solemnly. "And you might be the only one who can help him find his way."

Padmé swallowed her anxiety. Terrible pressure was suddenly weighing down on her, suffocating her. She knew Obi-Wan was right. She was Anakin's last hope. If she succeeded, maybe she could save him. But if she failed… She did not even want to think about what would happen if she failed.

She gathered her courage. She nodded.

"Padmé," said Obi Wan with confidence. "You can do this."

She nodded again, but she was no less uncertain, no less afraid, than before.

Then Obi-Wan turned to open Anakin's cell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sworn to Darkness**

CHAPTER IV

Padmé's heart was a hammer in her chest as she watched Obi-Wan enter a code only he, Yoda, and the droids knew into the security lock outside Anakin's cell. The doors slid open. Obi-Wan went in, and, practically stepping on his heels, she followed him. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness as a chill like the breath of winter enveloped her, giving her goosebumps. The doors slammed shut behind her, and a sound like thunder wailed in this stone room, ricocheting off the walls and coming back to hit them in the face.

She went straight to the man unconscious in the center of the room. Anakin… When she got closer to him and looked upon his sleeping form, a painful shudder tore through her body. As if her heart was being torn out of her chest. He looked awful. Lying there, he looked a corpse. His skin was deathly pale, as if he was bleeding to death, and a grey shadow had befallen his face, as if he was already dead. The circles beneath his eyes were so dark one would have thought they were painted on with charcoal. His youthful, handsome face was lined, as if by age, but by sickness. The plastic tubes in his nose served as a dreadful reminder that even now, Anakin could not breathe without assistance; even now, he was very close to death. The metallic limbs reflected the faint, gloomy light of this tomb. The metal glared at Padmé like the blades of swords. At least the burns were covered. If they were not, Padmé did not think she would be able to bear this.

In a daze, in shock, she stared at him and slowly approached his bed. She was dreaming. All of this felt like—and had to be—a dream. Surely this was just a horrible nightmare. Surely, she would soon wake up, and she would be in her own room, in her own bed, and Anakin would be lying beside her. She would be snuggled tightly against him, and his arms—real arms of flesh and blood—would be around her, holding and protecting her. She would open her eyes, and everything would be okay. These things she was witnessing were simply too terrible to be real. Even after five days, she was still not fully able to believe any of it. She could not believe that Anakin had really joined the Dark Side.

"Oh, Anakin…" a trembling whisper fell through her lips. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Her legs carried her a final step, and she was standing right beside him. She stared down at him, in fear and grief.

Obi-Wan, who she had forgotten upon seeing Anakin, came up behind her and gave her a chair. Just in time. Padmé's legs gave out from beneath her, and she collapsed into the seat. "I will be watching outside with the others," Obi-Wan said, putting his hand on her shoulder and speaking softly near her ear. "If anything happens, I will protect you."

Padmé did now answer. She did not take her eyes off Anakin.

Obi-Wan sighed and straightened up. He gently squeezed her shoulder, hoping to reassure her. Then, with nothing else to do, no way to help, helpless, he left the room. The doors closed and Padmé was alone with Anakin.

She sat stiffly in her chair, staring at him, her eyes transfixed upon his sickly face, as if held there by a sorcerer's spell. _He is dying._ The terrible truth finally surfaced in Padmé's heart, and she had no choice but to accept it. Despite the surgeries they had given him, the mask that had forced him to keep breathing, the oxygen tubes in his nose now, the fluids and medications still pumping into his veins, keeping him alive, Anakin was dying. One way or another, he was going to die. If he survived his injuries—and there was a great chance he would; the medical technology of the Jedi was exceptional—the Jedi, themselves, the ones who had saved him, would execute him. They would kill him. Padmé's own _allies_ would kill her husband. And she would remain helplessly by their side and watch.

Yoda's words tumbled through her mind, ricocheting off the inside so her cell and echoing like every sound that emitted in this stone tomb. _Your husband young Skywalker may be, but our prisoner he is. And a traitor, and a murder, and a Sith… If anyone else this traitor was, want him executed you would as well._

How could she let this happen? How could she just stand by and let them kill Anakin. He was not what they said he was. He was a good person, a great person. He was scared and confused, in his desperation he had wandered down the wrong path. But he was still the same man! He was Anakin… or was Anakin no longer? Was Anakin dead already. Had this monster called Death Vader already killed him?

Padmé would not believe that. No matter what Yoda said, she refused to believe Anakin was gone. There was still goodness in him, she knew it. She had no doubt. She could _feel_ it. He could still be saved. He could still be brought to the light. A condemned soul repents, is forgiven, and receives salvation.

…But even then, would the Jedi forgive him? Would they pardon him for his crimes? Or would he be tried and executed all the same…?

 _Obi-Wan would not let that happen!_ Padmé dismissed the horrible thought. But, again, a shadow came over her heart, and her certainty fell into doubt. _…Or would he?_ Would Obi-Wan even have a choice? Did he have any more power than she did? Did he have the power to save Anakin? No. There were only two Jedi left on the Council: Obi-Wan and Yoda. Between the two of them, Yoda was the master, and Obi-Wan was his apprentice. If it came it, Padmé feared, Yoda's vote would hold more authority. Yoda would have the final say. And if it was up to Yoda…

Padmé was alone with Anakin now. She could set him free. Right now, she could set him free. Maybe, she could save his life…

But she couldn't. She was tempted, but it was impossible. From inside this cell, it appeared she and Anakin were alone, but they were not. Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Organa were just outside, watching them every move. And even if she released Anakin from this bed he was tied to, they had no where to go. They would open the doors, and the Jedi would be waiting for them on the other side. Besides, even if Padmé could free Anakin, she wouldn't. To help him escape the Jedi would be to help the Dark Side and to surrender any chance of bringing Anakin back to the Light. Padmé would never do that. She would never turn to Darkness. She would not betray the Light. …She would not betray Obi-Wan.

She was still torn and heartbroken, devastated as she thought about these inevitable things that were bound to happen sooner or later, when Anakin began to wake. He opened his eyes. He saw the dark ceiling above him, the dark room around him, the darkness enveloping, enslaving his body and soul. He was still lying on his back. He was still chained to his bed. He was still in pain.

"Anakin!" a voice like the softest and most precious silk cried out beside him. It was a sound more beautiful than the song of angels. Sweeter than any wine, or drink, or mortal pleasure. This voice—this broken, frightened, desperate voice—was what he needed more than anything. He needed it more than a man dying of thirst needs water. More than he needed treatment or medicine, he needed this woman. Even quicker than he had furiously turned to see Obi-Wan, he turned his head and saw Padmé.

"Padmé!" Anakin cried out.

For the first time since Mustafar, she recognized his voice. It was Anakin's voice. Not Darth Vader's.

Emotion too great to distinguished rushed into Anakin, flooding and drowning his soul. He was astonished and overjoyed to see her. All at once, he felt surprise, and relief, and fear, and guilt, and joy. It overwhelmed him. For a split second, he felt tears fighting to rush into his eyes. He did not let them. The Dark Side had hardened his heart enough. Even now, he did not cry.

"Padmé, are you alright!?" he hastily and anxiously asked, close to panicking. "Are you hurt? Are you—"

"No, no, Anakin," she quietly answered, shaking her head. She leaned closer to him and gently brushed his hair out of his face, trying to calm him. "I'm fine."

"And the baby?" he asked, just as fretfully.

"The baby is fine. We're alright. We're…" She swallowed the knot in her throat and tried to sound confident—but in truth, she had no idea if what she was saying was true—as she told him, "We're all going to be alright." Running her finger's through his hair, her hand brushed against his head, and she was terrified at how hot his skin was. "Anakin, you're burning up!" she exclaimed in fright. She pressed her hand against his forehead, and she could feel the heat radiating off of him. "You must have a fever!" She looked suddenly up at the screens beside the bed and tried to find wherever his temperature was being monitored.

Anakin, however, could not have cared less if he had a fever or not. Disregarding the fact entirely, disregarding how miserable he felt, he continued to look at Padmé, even though she was no longer looking at him. "Padmé…" he said softly. Sadness and regret were thick in his voice and in his eyes. His stone heart had softened in the presence of his wife, whom he loved more than anything, and he could feel again. He felt guilt. Sorrow. Regret. "Padmé, I didn't mean to hurt you."

Padmé looked away from the screen, and she looked into Anakin's eyes.

He shook his head slowly. "I didn't mean to hurt you when we were on Mustafar," he said straightly. "I just got angry."

Padmé let out a slow breath, trying to control her emotions, trying to keep herself from crying. She nodded. "I know, Anakin," her voice emitted a thin whisper. She gently put her hand on his cheek and whispered again, "I know."

"I'm sorry," said Anakin. He was surprised how difficult it was to speak those words. Why, all of the sudden, was it so hard to apologize? Why was it so hard—even to Padmé—to admit that he was wrong?

Padmé nodded slowly. But she could not say anything, because she was afraid she would cry if she tried to speak. She was fighting to hold back tears already. Yet, she wanted Anakin to know that she had forgiven him. She wanted him to know that she still loved him, that she would always love him. So she leaned forward and gently kissed his forehead.

Anakin closed his eyes and felt her soft kiss upon his head. Relief and joy—love—flowed into his burnt-up heart. It was like water flowing into a dry and barren land, reviving what was dead, giving life anew to that which had died in the murderous heat of the drought. Padmé still loved him. He could still save her. That was all that mattered.

For Padmé, however, this kiss just reminded her of Anakin's dangerously high temperature. "I'm going to give you more medicine for your fever," she said rising from her chair and going to the machines. She scrolled through the data on the screen and learned that Anakin's temperature was currently 103.5 degrees and that they could have given him another dose of pain and fever medication forty-five minutes ago. Between her and Obi-Wan going in to confront him, they had forgotten.

"I'm surprised Obi-Wan let you see me," Anakin remarked as Padmé pressed a few buttons on the machine.

Padmé did not answer. She glanced across the room at the wall, through which she knew Obi-Wan was watching. From inside, it appeared a solid barrier of stone. She quickly looked away, hoping she had not already divulged too much. Anakin did not miss it. With difficulty, he raised his head off his pillow and tried to see what she was looking at. He saw only the wall of his cell. It did not take him long to figure out what was going on.

"He is watching us now, isn't he?" he muttered flatly. Padmé reluctantly turned to face him, and her hesitant expression gave everything away. Anakin let out an abrupt scoff and rolled his eyes. He wasn't surprised, but no less angered.

Not knowing what to say, not knowing what else to do, Padmé turned her back on Anakin. She had already finished with the machines, but she pretended to be doing something on them, just so she would not have to face him.

"Padmé, listen to me," Anakin said in a low, serious tone. Padmé didn't respond. "Padmé, look at me," Anakin commanded. His voice was not harsh, but it was firm. It was not threatening, but, for some reason, Padmé was afraid to disobey. Helplessly, she turned around and found herself trapped under his penetrating gaze. She saw him and her heart dropped, because that look of anger, hated, and darkness had returned to his eyes. "Padmé, do not listen to Obi-Wan," he said gravely. "He is trying to turn you against me. He is trying to take you from me." He looked directly into her eyes. His expression was hard and cold, like stone, but there was undoubtable desperation in his eyes. "You can't leave me, Padmé."

Padmé stared back at him. She shook her head helplessly, like a woman imprisoned, enslaved, a woman who had no choice, who would not have been able to leave if she wanted to. She answered in a broken whisper that sounded as if she was about to cry, "I'll never leave you, Anakin…"

Anakin's soul sighed in relief a final time. "Then, you have to listen to me," he said urgently. "If you do not want us to be separated forever, you cannot believe anything Obi-Wan or the Jedi tell you. They are our enemies now."

"No, Anakin, that's not true!" Padmé objected in distress. "The Jedi are _good!_ "

"The Jedi can't help us, Padmé," he refuted, shaking his head, adding to the pain. "If we put our faith in the Jedi, I will lose you and our baby, and I will _not_ let that happen." He fell silent and dropped his gaze. He remembered how he lost his mother. No, he would not let that happen again. He would not lose Padmé or their child. He would not lose his family. …No matter the cost.

He let out a slow breath and looked up into Padmé's eyes once more. "I can save you, Padmé," he said quietly. "Palpatine and I can save you."

"That is what Palpatine told you, but you cannot believe—"

"That is what Obi-Wan told you!" Anakin shouted. For the first time since he choked her on Mustafar, Anakin lost his temper with Padmé. He yelled at her. "You believe whatever Obi-Wan tells you! You don't even question it!"

"I _trust_ Obi-Wan," Padmé answered, shocked by his outburst.

"Do you trust Obi-Wan over _me!?_ " Anakin cried in exasperation—outrage. Disgusted, he yelled at her as if accusing her of adultery, "Do you trust Obi-Wan over your own _husband!?_ "

 _Obi-Wan did not turn to the Dark Side, betray his friends, and murder innocent children!_ Padmé almost shouted at him. She did not. Instead, she boldly declared, "Obi-Wan cares about us, Anakin!" She returned to her chair by the bed and sat down beside Anakin. Remarkably, there was not a trace of anger or tension in her when she looked at him now. She softly touched his cheek and caressed his face. "He cares about both of us, and our child. Anakin, he _loves_ us. He loves _you._ You're like his brother. He is trying to help us."

"Obi-Wan _can't_ help us, Padmé," Anakin cried. Somehow, his fury had faded away—it had melted under the warmth of her soft touch—and he was left in fear and desperation. "He does not have the power to save you."

"You _don't need_ to save me, Anakin," said Padmé, yearning for him to believe her, doing everything in her power to make him believe her… even if what she was saying was not true. She pressed her hand against his cheek. "I'm not going to die in childbirth. I promise."

"How can you promise that, Padmé? I've seen it."

"The future can change, Anakin. Obi-Wan said so."

" _Nothing_ will change, if we do not do something to change it. That I why we need Palpatine—"

"Anakin, how do you know you can trust Palpatine? How do you know he is not just using you, like Obi-Wan said? What makes you think you can trust Palpatine over Obi-Wan?"

Anakin opened his mouth to reply, but he did not know what to say. He closed his lips and just stared into Padmé's eyes. "It doesn't matter if I can trust him," he said at last. His voice was like ice. Cold. Unfeeling. "It doesn't matter if he's using me. I'm using him too. All I need is to learn how to save you. After that, Palpatine means nothing to me. I am stronger than him, I can overthrow him. Then, you and I—"

"Anakin, stop this," Padmé pleaded with him. She had already hear this once when they were on Mustafar. …And it had ended with Anakin choking her with the Force; Padmé passed out, and when she woke up, Obi-Wan had cut Anakin to pieces. She rose to her feet. "This is wrong."

Anakin shook his head and answered darkly, "This is the only way, Padmé."

"The Dark Side is never the way, Anakin!"

"Padmé, I _will not_ watch my wife and my child die. I will not! I don't care how much it costs. I will not let you die!"

"I'd rather die than live to see my husband join the Dark Side!"

Her words were like bullets, and they hit him hard. They hurt. "Padmé…" Anakin whispered, staring at her in disbelief, his heart breaking. He shook his head. "Don't say that."

"It's true," she held her ground. "So stop this! Stop this before it's too late!"

"It's already too late."

"No, it isn't!"

"I won't lose you, Padmé."

"I'm losing _you_ , Anakin! I'm losing you to the Dark Side! To _Palpatine!_ Don't do this to me! You're being selfish!"

"Selfish!" He was outraged. Fury burned like fire in his eyes. He raised his voice and yelled at her, "I've given up everything, Padmé! I've given up everything for _you!_ The Jedi, my friends, my life, my _soul!_ Everything! How can you say that I'm being selfish!?"

Anakin was being selfish, because he was thinking only of this life. He did not think of what would come after that. He did not think of the life that would—in contrast to the fleeting time a mortal life is—stretch on for eternity. Certainly, Padmé's death would break Anakin's heart. It would devastate him. However, Padmé would be in a better place, and Anakin would see her again one day, and they would both be happy and free. Anakin did not consider this. He did not consider that now, because of what he had done, they would never be together after death. Instead, they would be separated, one in heaven the other in hell. Instead of saving their chance of ever being free together, he had destroyed it. But Anakin did not think of this.

That is why Padmé called him selfish. However, as soon as she said it, she wished she had not. Anakin was right. He had given up everything for her, and she repaid him by calling him selfish. Of course, Anakin was wrong, but he was lost. In his mind—confused, conflicted, deceived, twisted—he thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was doing the only thing to save the woman he loved.

So, immediately, she wished she could seize those fatal words, drag them back into her mouth, and prevent Anakin from ever hear them. But she could not. Alas, nothing can be undone once it has been spoken. She shook her head, close to tears now. She could not produce an answer.

"Padmé, do you want our child to die before he is even born!?" Anakin snapped without warning. "Before he even _lives?_ "

"Of course, not," she whimpered. "But if we die, at least, we will be in a better place. If you join the Dark Side, Anakin…" She could not say any more. She could not bear to say it, even think it. She fell silent and looked away. She tried hard to hold back her tears, but she could not. Anakin watched them roll slowly down her cheeks, staining her pretty face red.

He sighed and dropped his gaze, his anger fading at the sight of her tears. His eyes fell upon her pregnant stomach, where she was carrying his child. He tried to reach out his hand—his metal hand—and touch the baby. He couldn't, because of the cuffs around his wrists prevented him from moving his arm… his fake arm.

Padmé moved closer to him, so he could touch her belly and feel his baby. Anakin felt his own eyes begin to sting. Again, he had to force back tears to prevent himself from crying. He touched his baby, which was moving inside of Padmé. Somehow, he knew the baby was moving. But he could not feel it. Because of these metal hands, he could not feel anything.

"Padmé…" he whispered. His voice was soft, weak, afraid. He was terrified. He was terrified of losing Padmé and the baby. He was terrified of losing everything. He looked up at her once more. Now, she could see tears in his dark, sunken eyes. It only made her want to cry harder. "Padmé, please…" he whimpered like a frightened child. "…Please, don't leave me."

A tear rolled silently down her cheek. She did not say anything, as there was nothing to say. She leaned over Anakin. He could feel the warmth of her body above him, and she could feel the heat of his fever burning her. She closed her eyes and kissed him. On the lips this time. But it was not a kiss of promise. It was not of reassurance or comfort. If anything beyond desperation, hopeless longings, and unreachable dreams, it was a kiss goodbye. It was not a kiss of hanging on, but of letting go.

They both knew it. As if their hearts and souls were one, they knew. No words had to be spoken. It was all said through silence. Through this final kiss. Padmé had chosen one path, and Anakin had chosen another. It was a path down which she could not follow. If Padmé refused to turn to the Darkness, if Anakin refused to surrender to the Light, maybe this really was the end. Maybe this really was goodbye.

No! It was impossible! He would not let this happen! He would not let it happen! …Just as he would not let Padmé die. He made that vow from the beginning, and he was willing to give anything to keep it, to see that promise come true. But it seemed now, at the end of the road, he was helpless. He could do nothing. Tied down to a table, broken, wounded, imprisoned by his friends, who he betrayed, who betrayed him, he was powerless. The future would become the present, and there was nothing he could do to change it. It was over.

Such emotion welled up inside of him that his heart felt as though it would rupture. His soul would explode in liquid or fire; he did not know which. In rain or in poison. He would yell, and scream, and cry all at once. They were both crying now. Padmé's tears wet Anakin's cheeks, and his tears stained hers. He hardly noticed this in his despair, and devastation, and grief, and sorrow, and anger, and fury, and hatred. Terrible hated. And again, he remembered who was to blame for all of this. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Obi-Wan, who had betrayed the Chancellor, who had betrayed the Senate, who had betrayed Anakin, who had turned his own wife against him, who cut off his arm and legs, who let him burn in fire, who nearly killed him, who took him prisoner, who was taking Padmé, who was taking their child, who was taking everything from him. Everything he loved he would lose. Because of Obi-Wan. Because Obi-Wan was too arrogant, too selfish, and too cowardly to let him save Padmé. Anakin never hated Obi-Wan—anyone—more than he did now.

Padmé let out a sharp gasp—a cry of surprise and pain. She jerked suddenly away from Anakin, as if he had hurt her. While she was kissing him, Anakin's hand had remained on her belly, but now she backed away from him, and he could not reach her anymore.

His heart lurched inside of him. His eyes flew open and, in panic, darted to Padmé. "What is it!?" he cried urgently and fearfully. "What's wrong!?"

Padmé did not answer. She was breathing heavily, panting. Her eyes were wide and afraid. She winced in pain. Her hand was pressed against her lower abdomen. She clutched her pregnant belly as if it were a bleeding wound.

"Padmé, what is it!?" Anakin demanded again, his voice becoming higher as his desperation increased.

Padmé did not have to answer him. She looked down, and, urgently following her gaze, Anakin saw the rush of fluid soaking through the lower half of her rope, running down her legs, and dripping onto the floor, spilling with a noise like a small stream. Anakin's heart plummeted into his stomach. His chest was left empty and cold, filled with darkness and ice. Padmé's water broke, and she had gone into labor. It happened so suddenly, prematurely. Without warning or cause.

…But there was a cause. The chill in Anakin's soul plummeted another hundred degrees, and his blood froze. The truth hit him like a lightsaber through the chest.

It is his fault. _He_ was the reason Padmé was about to give birth. His hand was on her stomach, on the baby, when he had gotten so angry, so _hatful._ His wrath coursed through him like fire and became lethal power. Without even meaning to, without even realizing it, he wielded the power of the Force… No. The power of the Dark Side. It passed through him. It left his hand and entered Padmé's womb. It ruptured the membrane, and there was nothing to hold the baby. Now, because of Anakin, because of his own anger, his own recklessness, his own _foolishness_ , Padmé would give birth. Now, at the end, when he had done, given up, and lost everything to save her, Padmé would die because of him. How ironic, how cruel fate is.

Anakin was struck down by the utter shock, the utter terror that seized him. He stared at Padmé in horror and helplessness. His chest was clamping up, his throat contracting, sweat breaking out all over him. He could not speak. He could not breathe. His head was spinning, and the world around him was collapsing. Before his very eyes, he was watching his life crumble and fall in ruins. He, Padmé, and their child would be buried and crushed under the rubble. And he could do nothing to stop it. Not the even the Force, not the Light or Dark Side, could help him now.

Padmé looked up, and her huge, terrified eyes met her husband's. "Anakin…" a despairing whisper fell through her trembling lips.

But Anakin could not help her. He could not save her. He could do nothing but stare at her in horror and watch her suffer. Watch her die.

"Padmé!" the voice of a concerned man, but not her husband, spoke from behind her. Neither of them saw him enter the room—in their panic, they did not see or care about anything else—but when Padmé turned over her shoulder, Obi-Wan was already there. "It's alright, Padmé," he was saying quietly, as he put his arms around her trembling form. "Deep breaths. You'll be alright." They turned their backs on Anakin, and Obi-Wan began to lead Padmé from the room.

"NO!" Anakin screamed. His heart erupted in a thousand emotions he did not attempt to distinguish. His voice burst through this barrier of silence, flying from his lips in furious, and horrified, and agonized screams. "No!" he yelled again and again, desperately, deliriously, hysterically. "No, no, no, no, _NO!_ " _No!_ This was not real. How could this be happening!? How could he have done this!? How!? How could he be so _stupid?!_ What was the matter with him!? He cursed himself. He hated himself. More than he had ever hated anything in his life, he hated himself.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" Anakin wailed. "Obi-Wan, no! Take her to Palpatine! Palpatine can save her! He can… Obi-Wan, _please!"_ Strong, proud Anakin reduced himself to this shameful level of humility: like a coward, begging his master Obi-Wan. "Please, Obi-Wan; Palpatine can save her…" His yell became a whisper. "…Please…" Tears streamed freely down his cheeks. His eyes were swollen and red. He stared at Padmé's back—Obi-Wan's arm around her shoulders—and watched him take her away.

They did not even glance back at him. Ignoring him completely, heedless of his cries and protests, they went out. Anakin's shouts transformed from intelligible words to long, tortured wails. Agonized moans and cries, terrifying and terrible sounds like a dying animal, or like a man in a torturing chamber. Just before the doors closed behind Obi-Wan and Padmé, Anakin looked on his beloved wife for the last time. The love of his life, who he, himself, had murdered. After everything he had given up to save Padmé… it seemed, in his anger, he had killed her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sworn to Darkness**

CHAPTER V

She could hear Anakin screaming as Obi-Wan lead her down the hallways, further away from him. His voice followed her down the corridor, echoing through these stone walls, perusing and haunting her. Agonized, devastated. It was like the voice of the demons crying out as they are tortured in hell. Through the groans and yells, she could hear him calling her name. From beneath the earth, deep in their graves, the damned cry out to the living. They outstretch their lifeless arms and try to touch her one more time— They cannot reach her.

"Easy, Padmé," a gentle voice said beside her. Obi-Wan's hand was on her back as he lead her away, comforting her. "Deep breaths. Just try to relax. It's going to be alright."

Every breath she inhaled was strained and sharp, a gasp of fear and a gasp of pain. She looked suddenly up at Obi-Wan. Her face was red, wet, and afraid. "Obi-Wan…" she whispered in desperation. "…the baby… Anakin said…"

"It will be alright," Obi-Wan said again calmly. "Your baby will be just fine."

"But Anakin said—"

"I know what Anakin said, but do not worry. Everything will be alright."

He brought her into a medical room and helped her onto the bed. She lied down on her back and stared up at the ceiling. Her heart was racing wildly inside of her, pounding in her chest and skull. Her lungs were heaving, and her body was shaking. She closed her eyes and grit her teeth as wave-like pain passed through her, making her sweat and tremble. Already she was experiencing powerful contractions… which did not seem quite right.

The EW-3 midwife droid was with them before Obi-Wan knew she had entered. She went swiftly to the bed and began preparations to deliver the child. Obi-Wan went across the room to the doorway. He briefly met the eyes of Organa and Yoda, who were standing just outside waiting, and he closed the door. The walls smothered all sound, and Padmé could not hear Anakin's cries anymore. Somehow, this brought her both great relief and greater distress. It was a relief no longer to hear the sound of her husband in suffering, in torment of both the body and soul. And yet, now, she felt so alone.

Obi-Wan returned to her side. "Try to relax, Padmé," he said again in a soothing tone. "It could still be hours before the baby is born."

He barely finished saying this when EW-3 turned to the Jedi and informed him, "The birth is coming along very quickly, sir. The baby will be born shortly."

Obi-Wan's brown furrowed in surprise and alarm, which he struggled to hide from Padmé. "Already?"

"Yes, sir," answered the droid. "How long has she been in labor?"

 _Five minutes,_ Obi-Wan thought grimly. He feared how this would effect the baby. This was not a natural birth. Without even meaning to, Anakin had induced it. The strength of his power was incredible. It was literally _forcing_ the baby out of Padmé's womb. Only minutes had gone by, and the child was close to being born. Prematurely. Obi-Wan had no idea what kind of effects this would have on the baby. …And on the mother.

"Obi-Wan," Padmé whimpered through fear and pain. He immediately returned his full attention to her. "Obi-Wan, Anakin said—"

"Listen to me," Obi-Wan interrupted before she could say anymore. He grasped her hand, and Padmé latched onto his like a lifeline. Obi-Wan looked into her eyes. Urgently he told her, "These dreams Anakin is having are not real. They are illusions, tricks. Palpatine is making him have these visions to deceive him, to trick him into joining the Dark Side. They have no truth in them, Padmé. They mean nothing. So do not be afraid." He said this as if he was completely, doubtlessly sure of what he proclaimed, and, staring into those crystal blue eyes, trusting him, Padmé believed him. In reality, however, Obi-Wan did not know if what he was saying was true. He could only hope… He could only pray to whatever Deity created the universe, which was now falling into darkness.

"Listen, Padmé," Obi-Wan said again, his voice becoming even lower and graver. Still holding her hand, heedless of the pain that tore through his own hand as she gripped his burned palm, he kneeled down beside her bed, and they were at eyelevel. "If you and the baby both survive, as you both will," he hastily added when he saw fear flicker through her eyes at the word _if_ , "Anakin will see the truth. He will see that Palpatine was deceiving him. He will see the Dark Side for what it is, and he will return to the Light."

Padmé nodded. A candle of hope appeared in her overshadowed soul. Obi-Wan was right. If she and the child survived, Anakin would have no reason to remain on the Dark Side. He would realize that he was wrong, and he would come back to the Good Side. Maybe, this was the only thing that could convince him… save him.

"Find the strength, Padmé," Obi-Wan encouraged her. "You will get through this. You will be alright."

Less than twenty minutes later, she was breathing heavily, grunting in pain, cringing, as the baby moved lower inside of her, and the droid informed them that it would not be long. Padmé gripped Obi-Wan's hand as tightly as she could. She must have been causing him a great deal of pain as her fingers crushed his wounded hand, but he did not show it. He only held her hand tighter.

She let out a sudden, sharp cry. Her body stiffened, and her face contorted in an expression of agony. "Easy…" the droid said to the young mother. "Almost there…"

Obi-Wan held his breath…

Padmé cried out again. Her cry should have been followed by the high, innocent, precious cry of a new born child.

But it wasn't.

At the delivery droid's reaction, Obi-Wan's heart dropped. Immediately, he knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong. "What is it!?" he asked, trying and failing to hide his alarm from Padmé. "What's wrong?"

"What is it!?" Padmé cried. She lifted her head off of the bed and tried to see what was happening. Before she could see anything, Obi-Wan put his hand on her shoulder and prevented her from getting up.

EW-3 turned to the Jedi and grudgingly gave her report. "The child is breech, sir."

Obi-Wan let his breath out. This news was by no means good, considering the risks, especially considering Anakin's dreams, but nonetheless he was relieved. He feared she was going to say the baby was stillborn. For a moment, he thought that it was already too late, that the child was already dead.

The young mother gasped and looked immediately to the man beside her. "Obi-Wan!"

"It will be alright, Padmé," he assured her once more, giving her hand a gently squeeze. "Just relax and do as EW-3 tells you. Your baby will be fine."

Being that the baby was breech, it took longer than it should have. Padmé's strength was draining from her body and soul. Obi-Wan knew her hope was fading as well. For the sake of whatever hope they had left—for all of them, for the baby, Padmé, Anakin, the Jedi, the entire galaxy—he prayed the baby would be born fast. If this went on for much longer, he feared Anakin's dreams would become a reality.

A high yell rang out as pain ripped through her. She closed her eyes and clung to Obi-Wan so tightly that blood soaked through the bandages around his hand. She did not notice, and he did not care. She was blinded by pain. She felt like she had been lit on fire. She felt like she was back on Mustafar, and this time she was the one burning up in lava. It was terrible. She could not bear it! Then all of her pain transformed into elation, as the sweetest sound she had ever heard met her ears. The cry of a new born child.

"Padmé, look!" Obi-Wan cried, as relief—pure joy—flooded into his weary soul. He let go of her hand and hurried to EW-3's side as she wrapped the tiny body in a blanket. Obi-Wan took the baby from the droid. His heart—which, after all these years of abiding by the strict Code of the Jedi, concealing his emotions, ignoring his feelings, had become hard and impenetrable like stone—gave way. It melted inside of him, as he took the newborn child into his arms. That quickly, before he could forbid his heart to allow it, he loved this baby. Obi-Wan brought the child to his mother. "Padmé, it's a boy."

She opened her eyes as Obi-Wan appeared at her side, holding the child in his arms. For the first time, she looked on the face of her son. He looked like his father. Immediately she knew it. Even as young, as tiny as this baby was, she could see Anakin in him. In his beautiful little face, his soft blond curls—Anakin used to have blond hair—and his large blue eyes. Her baby looked like Anakin.

Tears were in her eyes again. But now they were tears of joy. She weakly stretched out her arms, and Obi-Wan carefully put the child into her embrace. He was still crying, but laying against his mother's beasts, the warmth of her body, her arms around him, seemed to calm him a bit. He curled up against her, and she held him close. Her baby safe in her arms, Padmé closed her eyes and inhaled pure happiness, exhaling pure relief. The time of pain had passed, and now she could feel nothing but joy.

Another bullet of agony struck her. She let out a sharp cry. EW-3 turned suddenly in alarm and confusion. Obi-Wan's heart stopped. "What is it!?" he demanded, turning to the droid. "What's wrong with her!?"

EW-3 did not answer. For a long time, the droid did not know herself. The baby had already been in born; the mother should not have been in pain still… She realized what was happening. She turned slowly to Obi-Wan, who was staring at her in terror. EW-3 was torn between happiness and dread, as the woman was already very weak, bleeding heavily, losing blood and losing hope. Just when she thought it was all over, Padmé was suffering again, and the droid did not know if she would be able to endure such a thing another time. EW-3 answered softly: "Twins."

* * *

"Save your energy," said Obi-Wan. Desperation—despair—glinted like tears in his eyes. He was holding her cold hand in both of his own. The warmth was fading from her flesh. Each moment, her grasp was loosening on his hand, until she was no longer holding it at all. She had let go, and he alone clung to her. As if he was clinging to her life for her. He begged her not to let go.

She was close to death now. She was so weak, too weak to go on. Each second, her heart was beating slower, each breath came softer…. Her face was pale—white—like a fallen soldier who is wounded and bleeding to death. Her eyes were dark, the light fading from them as her soul prepared to depart from her body. The angel spread her wings, and soon she would fly through the heavens, from this world to the next.

With whatever dying strength she had left, she managed to shake her head. In a strained breath, she managed a whisper, "I can't."

"Don't give up, Padmé," Obi-Wan begged her. But it was too late for that now. She had given up already. The sun had set on her lifetime. The last glow of day vanished from the horizon. Darkness settled.

Padmé's eyes closed, never to open again. Her lungs exhaled a final breath. The music of her heart slowed, softened, and ceased. Her head fell slowly, turning to the side, and came to rest against the bed. The only sign of toil left upon her face was a single tear, which glittered like a diamond on her cheek. She looked peaceful. Like she was sleeping. The sleep that she entered now, however, was enteral. She would not wake again. Not in this world. She was dead.

Obi-Wan stared at this departed beauty, this fallen angel. Even in sleep, she was pretty. Even in death, she was beautiful. He stared at her in disbelief. Shock. Denial. Despair. Then, accepting the terrible truth that she could not be saved, he let go of her hand and rose quickly to his feet. He turned to the EW-3 midwife droid, the only living—if a droid can pass for living—being left in this room with him, and he looked into her eyes. His face was as grave as death. He spoke to her in a solemn voice, as if he already knew the answer. "The baby?"

The droid lowered her face in despair. _Defeat._ She shook her head sorrowfully. "No," a soft whisper emitted from her cold, metal lips. "This one did not make it."

Anakin's eyes snapped open. Cold sweat drenched him. It ran in streams down his body, soaking through his clothing and through the bandages that enveloped his torso, giving him goosebumps and making him shiver, seeping into his wounds and burning them like fire. Tears spilt from the corners of his eyes and ran steadily, like rivers, down the sides of his face. Rivers that carry away the bodies of the deceased. Rivers that carry in boats souls who have passed from the world of the living.

He stared at the ceiling above him. It was blacker than night. Blacker than smoke. Blacker than death. He saw only darkness. He knew only darkness. Cold, treacherous, pitiless darkness. He felt so dead inside. Empty. Hollow. No heart beat in his chest. No soul gave life to this living corpse. Padmé was dead. His child was dead. He had nothing to live for. He had nothing to be for. He was nothing now.

He was Anakin Skywalker, who was once a Jedi, who was once a hero, who was once good. Now he was sworn to darkness. His entire world, now, was darkness. Yet, there remain two lights—two ever-burning candles—in his desolate world, lighting the path that would lead him from this broken road. Padmé, his beloved wife. And their beloved child. Yet, before his very eyes, he watched both of those lights fade and dissolve into the obscurity. He watched the candles flicker and go out. Padmé, the love of his life, for whom would have done anything and everything, for whom he gave up his very soul to save, was gone. Their baby too was gone. His wife and his child were dead. And it was he who had killed them.

He was Anakin Skywalker, who died when he betrayed his friends, who died when he killed the Jedi, who died when he murdered those innocent children, who died when he tried to murder his brother, who died when he killed his wife, who died when he killed his baby, who died when he lost his angels. He was Anakin Skywalker, and he was dead. Only a body, only a _machine_ , with no life—no light—inside, was left. Anakin Skywalker was dead. He died with his wife and his child. He was not Anakin Skywalker anymore. He was a creature of fire and darkness. He was a monster called Darth Vader.

 _No. This can't be true. This can't be real,_ he thought numbly, emptily as he looked into the darkness. But in his heart, he knew it was true. Before his very eyes, he watched Padmé suffer as she gave birth. He watched her strength fade. He watched her life drain. He watched the light fade from her eyes. He watched Padmé die.

 _That doesn't mean she is dead,_ he tried to tell himself. In desperation and denial, he tried to give himself any last shred of hopeless hope to cling to, even though he knew hope had long been gone. _Maybe not yet. Maybe this is still the future…_ With his eyes closed, he saw this through the power of the Force. He saw this, just as he had seen the visions that haunted his dreams and tortured him every night. Maybe, it was the future he saw, not the present. Maybe, Padmé had not died yet. Maybe, it was not too late. Maybe… somehow… he could still save her…

The heavy doors slid open, and a sound like the reverberation of thunder passed through the stone foundation of his cell. He turned his head and saw Obi-Wan Kenobi—a name and face that meant nothing to him now; nothing meant anything to him now—standing in the doorway. Any last spec of light, any stray amber left glowing and fading in his heart was extinguished. A darkness colder than winter and blacker than death conquered his soul. He knew it was too late. He knew is vision was real. Present. Past now. Padmé was dead. Had she still been alive, Obi-Wan would not have come here.

He did not speak. There was nothing to say. What words come to a man who has just lost everything? He stared at Obi-Wan. He stared into his icy blue eyes, deep pools of wisdom, strength, and piety, all which proved useless in the end. He was not sure what it was he felt. Blame? Hatred? Bitterness? Sadness? Sorrow? He did not know. He did not care. He did not care about Obi-Wan Kenobi anymore. He did not care if Kenobi dropped dead now or if he lived a thousand years. It made no difference. It did not matter. Nothing matted now. What did he care if the Jedi destroyed every last Sith or if the Sith destroyed the entire galaxy? He did not give a damn either way. He did not care. He could not care. The only thing he cared about was gone.

Obi-Wan entered slowly. The doors closed behind him. He walked across the room to approach his captive. Only his footsteps broke the silence. They echoed loudly, more like gunshots, through this cell. This forsaken tomb. His eyes were trained on the floor, watching his feet and the stone beneath them. He did not look up until he stood before the bed and dared to meet the dead man's lifeless gaze.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan Kenobi said quietly. His voice was like stone. Hard and grave, impossible to decipher, void of expression and void of life. "Your children have been born."

He stared at him. He did not answer. His lifeless expression did not change. He did not believe it.

"Twins. A boy and a girl," Obi-Wan went on. "Padmé has requested that you help her name them."

Again, he did not answer. He stared at Obi-Wan. He stared at him hard. Unyielding. Then, to Obi-Wan's astonishment, it was not relief, or joy, or repentance that began to surface in this man's cold eyes. It was hatred.

"Padmé…" a low, dead voice came out from those cold lips. "Padmé is alive?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan answered nodding. "Padmé is alive. Alive and perfectly healthy." He could keep his face passive no longer, and a small smile spread across his lips. A light of warmth and happiness appeared in his eyes and illuminated his face. "She's alive, Anakin. She's aright. Padmé and the babies, all of them are alright."

He never took his eyes off Obi-Wan. He never let the ice melt from his heart. He never let even the dimmest ray of hope return to his dark soul. For he knew his heart would be broken all over again. "I don't believe you."

The smiled faded from Obi-Wan's face.

"You're lying to me. Don't lie to me, I saw the whole thing. I saw her give birth. I saw her die. I saw our child die." His voice rose in anger and became a shout. "Don't lie to me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, I know the truth! I know she's dead! I saw her die!"

"As I told you before, Anakin," he replied calmly, "these visions you are seeing are not real. That is Palpatine trying to trick you.

"You're lying!" Tears anew spilt from his eyes and ran down his face. "Why are you lying to me?" he demanded, but his threatening tone was broken by stifled sobs. "Why are you doing this to me, Obi-Wan? What do you want from me? Why are you so afraid to _kill me!?_ "

A look of sadness, pity, came into Obi-Wan's eyes. He shook his head and answered, "I'm telling you the truth, Anakin."

"I don't believe you!" he yelled. He rejected Obi-Wan, before he his grieving and desperate heart—there is no heart so vulnerable—could begin to believe what he yearned so longingly to believe. He yearned to believe it, but he knew could not be true.

"Come see for yourself then," answered Obi-Wan. This reply shocked Anakin. What shocked him even more: Obi-Wan raised one hand—the white bandages around his palm were stained red now—and used the Force to release him from his imprisonment. The cords holding him down loosened and came untied. The metal cuffs around his metal wrists opened and fell away. For the first time since Mustafar, Anakin was free.

He was astonished. This had to be a trick, a trap of some sort… But then again, if the Jedi were trying to kill him, they would have done it a _long_ time ago. They would have had no trouble. Then why were they doing this?

He did not know what to begin to think or to believe now. However, despite his distrust and disbelief, he could not suppress hope. It had returned to his heart. Every moment, every second Obi-Wan did not reveal all of this to be a lie, hope was growing stronger inside of Anakin. Hope was retuning to his heart. Light was retuning to his soul.

He sat up immediately and abruptly. Pain hit him so hard it almost knocked him down again. It was like a blast from the Force. He was not ready for it. It slammed into his body like a charging ox. It smashed his skull into his brain and his ribs into his lungs; it knocked the wind out of his chest and the strength out of his body. It was excruciating. His arms and legs, bonded to this cruel metal, shot with sharp pains like bullets. Still, the worst pain by far was in his back and lower body, where the fire had burnt off his skin and only raw, burnt flesh was left behind. He cringed, letting out a pained grunt as he fought against the agony. When he opened his eyes, again to shock him, Obi-Wan was by his side.

Obi-Wan gently put a hand on Anakin's back, steadying him, keeping him from falling, and he left it there… as if to comfort him. "Easy, Anakin." He spoke formally like a doctor to his patient, who he was helping only because it was his job to help him. However, there was quite obviously compassion hidden behind his futile mask of indifference. "Get up slowly. You haven't moved in over five days, and you are badly injured. You are going to be in a lot of pain."

He listened to Obi-Wan. He did not consider disobeying for a fleeting moment, which was astonishing. It had been a long time— _years_ —since Anakin had obeyed Obi-Wan without even a thought of protest, of rebellion. Yet, he did so now. Perhaps he was too weak and in too much pain to think or care about arguing. Perhaps he was too desperate and too anxious to see Padmé… to see if his wife, his beloved, his entire world, was really still alive.

Anakin got up slowly, and he let Obi-Wan help him up. His metallic feet scrapped like the blade of a sword against the stone floor, as he let his body slide from the edge of his bed, gradually putting his weight onto his new limbs. It felt strange, these metal legs beneath him, unsteadily holding up his weak body. He could move them. He could control them. But he could not feel them. This was going to take some getting used to. Yet, he would get used to in it time, just as he did when he lost his right arm.

"Wait a moment," Obi-Wan muttered. Again Anakin obeyed. He stood silently, panting slightly—it hurt his chest, his damaged lungs—and leaned against the bed to hold himself up. Obi-Wan rearranged the wires and tubes going into Anakin, connecting him to a mobile IV pole and a small oxygen tank on wheels instead of the many heavy machines beside his bed. This would allow him to leave the room without being cut off from the constant stream of medicine and oxygen being pumped into him… It allowed him to leave the room without endangering his life.

Obi-Wan took a strong hold on Anakin's upper arm, which was still real, and lead him for his cell, thus fulfilling his duty as a captor escorting his prisoner but, more importantly, and which was his true intension, steadying Anakin and making sure he did not fall. Every movement was painful, and walking made the pain several times worse. Anakin ignored it. He went quickly to the exit; as quickly as Obi-Wan would allow him to go.

The doors opened. Organa and Yoda were waiting for them on the other side. Their threatening glares pierced Anakin like blades. Their eyes smoldered in anger. Their faces were cold. Unforgiving. Organa gripped a blaster that was trained assiduously on Anakin. One wrong move, and he would pull the trigger. Yoda was empty handed, but he was armed with a weapon stronger than any of them could wield. The Force. And a knowledge of this power that surpassed the wisdom and skill of even Darth Sidious.

Obi-Wan glanced at them and nodded briefly, as if to ensure them everything would be alright. Without a word, he started forward again, leading Anakin beside him. Organa and Yoda followed closely behind the Jedi and the Sith. Their footsteps were like soldiers' marching into battle, but Anakin did not hear them. He did not hear anything around him. He did not see anything except for the closed door at the end of the hallways. Somehow, he knew Padmé was in that room. Dead or alive.

He felt like he was dreaming. These legs were moving, carrying him forward, but he was not controlling them. Each second, the door was getting closer, and he yearned desperately to get there, and yet, at the same time, he was afraid to reach it. He couldn't think. Thousands of thoughts were rushing through his mind and thousands of emotions rushing through his heart, and they were all jumbled together, and he could not distinguish any of them apart. His body was trembling. His heart was hammering wildly, painfully in his chest. It slammed against his ribs; it pounded in his temple; he could hear his heart beating inside of his skull. He couldn't breathe.

Then they were standing right in front of the door. Obi-Wan said something. He heard his voice, but it was muffled, as if speaking from underwater. Anakin could not make out a word. He stood there, helplessly, staring at the metal between him and his wife. The door opened.

The EW-3 droid was standing near the bed, but Anakin did not glace at her. His eyes were transfixed on one thing alone: Padmé. She was lying in bed in the center of the room, propped up against the many pillows behind her. She was clothed in white, and there was a white blanket cover the lower half of her body. Her hair was tangled, her skin pale, her face red. Darkness, like the shadow of death, encircled her eyes. And yet she was alive.

Her eyes were open and glittering with life. They glittered with joy. A broad smile beamed upon her lips and lit up her entire face. She was not looking at those standing in the doorway, however. She was looking down, gazing in adoration at the two tiny babies she held in her arms.

Anakin was overwhelmed. So many feelings hit him at once that he was not sure what to feel. Then, bursting forth in triumph from this entanglement in his soul, was relief, joy, and love like he had never known. "Padmé!" Anakin cried, as tears rushed into his eyes. He did not even try to hold them back, and they spilled out onto his cheeks.

Her head shot up, and she saw Anakin standing with Obi-Wan in the doorway. Her smile became even wider, and her face glowed like the face of an angel. "Anakin!" the young mother exclaimed.

Forgetting all else, forgetting every terrible that had happened, forgetting that his life had ever fallen apart, that his heart had fallen into darkness, that his soul had been sold to the devil, Anakin rushed forward to go to his family. Obi-Wan released him and let him run into the room. He collapsed onto his knees at Padmé bedside and threw his arms around her. Her pulled her close to him, burying her in his embrace, and he clung to her as tightly as he could. He was trembling. Padmé could feel him shaking. She could feel his lungs heaving and hear his heart pounding. Anakin held onto her. He held onto everything good left in his life. "Padmé, I thought you were dead," a quivering whimper fell through his lips. Tears spilt out onto his cheeks, as he bowed his face and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm fine, Anakin," he heard Padmé's soft voice whisper against his chest. "We're all alright." Anakin slowly released Padmé from his embrace. He left one arm around her shoulders as he turned his head and looked on faces of his children for the first time.

There is such a thing as love at first sight. However, it is less common amongst lovers, as stories and fantasy often suggest. This sudden, this undeserved and undying love, this "love at first sight," comes most often when a parent first lays eyes upon his child.

As soon as he saw them, as if by a magical incantation, Anakin lost his heart to these children. He had not known them for even a full minute, and Anakin would have died for them. In less than a second, he loved them. He loved them more than anything else. He loved them more than the entire world. These children and their mother were his world now. His family.

A smile of pure joy, spread across Anakin's face, and his withered spirit was renewed. A radiant light brighter than the sun burst forth in his blackened soul, and the darkness fled in the presence of the light. Love entered his soul and cleansed it like holy waters of baptism. In this moment, one never could have guessed this man had ever turned to the Sith.

The mother and the father both gazed in awe, in the undivided and unconditional love of parents, at their babies. For this moment—this single happy moment in a life of turmoil and misery—they allowed themselves to forget everything else. They allowed the world—just for a moment—to stop turning, and nothing else mattered. The only thing that matter, in this moment, was their family. Anakin was laughing and crying at the same time. His soul was flying; soaring on the winds of eagles and singing the praises of the angels. He never knew such joy in his life.

"They're so beautiful," Anakin whispered as he gazed on his children. He raised his prophetic hand and gently touched it against one of the baby's head. There are no nerves in metal, and so Anakin could not feel the child's soft, velveteen skin against his own. Even still, somehow, his joy did not diminish. He laughed quietly as another tear appeared on his cheek. His softly kissed Padmé cheek. Then he asked in a whisper, "What should we name them?"

Padmé turned her head and, her eyes sparkling and her smile glowing, looked up at Anakin. They were so close that their foreheads rested against each other, nuzzling each other in affection. "What do you think?" she asked quietly.

Gazing at her, Anakin smiled broadly. He shook his head and laughed, not because he thought anything was funny but because he was so happy. "I don't know. Whatever you think."

Padmé smiled down at the babies in her arms once more. She thought for a moment and then said softly, "Leia for the girl."

Anakin nodded, smiling tenderly upon his daughter. "Leia," he agreed gently. "My sweet, little Leia…"

Padmé turned her head to look at her husband again, and Anakin met her eyes. "And for the boy?"

The father looked on his boy. His hand was still resting very gently against his son's tiny forehead. He could cradle the baby's entire head in the palm of one hand. The boy was born first, but he was smaller than his sister. His body was tiny. His skin was like silk. He had soft blonde curls and large blue eyes. Until now, Anakin did not know a creature so beautiful, a precious, so innocent, so _pure_ , could exist in world that was so fallen. He never knew love like this could be real.

He gazed silently—lovingly—at the child for a moment longer. He looked into those wide blue eyes that stared straight back into his own. As if an angel whispered it in his ear, the answer came to him, and he knew the name of his son. Anakin pressed his hand against his son's forehead, and he answered Padmé softly, "Luke."

It was truly a beautiful moment. But, alas, it could not last. It seems at times that nothing good can last.

Anakin had perhaps five minutes with his family before Yoda and Organa abruptly ordered him returned to his cell. Padmé protested. She begged them to let her husband stay with her and his children, and Obi-Wan seemed to support her, but the other two would not hear it. They took Anakin into their custody and away from his family. At this point, Padmé was starting to cry, and Obi-Wan rushed to her side in attempt to comfort her. He remained with Padmé rather than going with Anakin. Minutes later—that quickly—Anakin was in solitude once more. Once again, he was alone in isolation and in darkness, with nothing but his confliction to consume him, no one but his demons to keep him company.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the wait. Thank you again so much, everyone, for reading this story, review, following, etc. I really appreciate it!**

* * *

 **Sworn to Darkness**

CHAPTER VI

The door of Anakin's cell slammed shut, and he was cut off from his family once more. The joy, the warmth, the light they had given him was suddenly gone, and he was consumed by darkness once more. Happiness faded from his heart, which immediately turned cold and hard. It became a rock in his chest, so heavy that it plummeted into his gut. His stomach turned over. He felt as if he was going to be sick.

No longer in the presence of his family, no longer blinded by love, nor basking in the glory of angels, reality finally struck him. For the first time, the truth hit him. It hit him like a bullet in the gut. He doubled over, as if suffering the impact of a real blaster, and the next thing he knew he was vomiting all over the cold, stone floor.

 _What have I done!?_

That was the only thing he could fathom, and the thought consumed him. It yelled in his ears, so loud it was deafening. Agonizing. It felt as if it was cracking his skull, ripping his eardrums, making them bleed. The noise was terrible, torturous. It was the voice inside his head—his conscience, finally awake again, back from the dead—and it was screaming again and again: _Murderer! Murderer! Murderer! You are a murderer! You are a monster!_

 _God…_ Anakin thought in reply. _What the devil have I done?_

At last, his eyes were no longer blind, his heart of stone was a heart of flesh, and his soul—a withered husk of black ash, burnt up in fire of Mustafar—was alive. At last, his sins caught up with him. They hit him it the face. They hit him again and again, like machine-gun fire, delivering blow after blow, wound after wound, gunning him down, making him bleed, breaking him, killing him. Each blow more painful than the proceeding, each impact more powerful…

 _Oh my God, what have I done!? What have I done?! How could I have done this!? How could I have let this happen!? How could I have been so STUPID!? What is the matter with me!?_ Something was wrong in his head—no, in his soul. A demon possessed him. It possessed him to betray the Jedi, to betray his friends, to murder innocent children… It made him an animal. Heartless. Soul-less. Yet, this demon he yearned so desperately to escape—it terrified him even to think it, but what was the sense in lying to himself when he knew it was the truth?—was himself. It was his own soul: twisted and deformed by the Dark Side. _I'm a monster._

He was on his hands and knees now, bent over on the ground, heaving time after time. There was hardly anything in his stomach, as he had not eaten in over five days (in this time, he was kept alive only by the nutrients fed to him through an IV), yet he threw up several times, until there was nothing left to come up. Then he continued dry-heaving. Choking. Gagging. As if guilt, itself, was suffocating him. As if invisible demons, emerged from the abyss to claim what was rightfully theirs, were strangling him. The same way he strangled Padmé.

He had hardly stopped vomiting, and he started coughing… which was even worse. Violent tremors—like those which rip through the ground before it shakes and splits—tore through his chest, and he coughed up the vile fluids that had collected in his injured lungs. Thick mucus, gross yellow liquid—pus from infection—and dark clots of blood came up his throat, dribbled out his mouth, and splattered across the floor beneath him.

He bent over, his body contracting in agony, curling up like an ember as it burns up in a furnace. Inferno. He clutched at his chest with his metal hand... as if that could somehow ease the pain. His chest felt as if it was being ripped apart, as if there was a beast inside of him, shredding his insides with it's dagger-like claws, devouring his soul with it's pitiless teeth.

He coughed until his lungs were raw and throbbed like a bloody wound. Then he threw up two more times. At last, like one submerging from underwater after they have been drowning in it, he drew in a desperate gasp and managed to pull a breath of life-saving air into his lungs. He stayed on his hands and knees, clutching his chest, shaking like a dead leaf about to break off from the branch and get swept away by the harsh wind. He was dizzy and lightheaded. Black spots swam before his eyes, threatening to blind him. Every second the room around him was getting darker. He thought he would pass out. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his head. He squeezed them shut, hoping desperately that all of this—somehow—was just a dream. But he knew it was not. The repulsive taste of vomit burned his throat and sinuses. He could taste blood in his mouth.

The tubes in his nose had traces of vomit in them now. Not only did the air running through them reek, but he was in danger of inhaling the vile stuff into his lungs. Groaning, he raised a shaky hand, ripped the tubes out of his nose, away from his face, and flung them carelessly away onto the floor. It was astounding how much harder breathing immediately became. Without the direct stream of oxygen flowing continuously into his lungs, he was on the verge of suffocating.

He let out a feeble groan, a weak sound like the last breath of a dying man. His muscles gave way, unable to hold his own weight any longer, and he collapsed to the floor. Pain slammed into him, like an ocean wave crashing down on the coast, as his broken body hit the stone. A weak cry came from his lips, along with a thin trickle of blood. He strained his quivering muscles and forced his body to move itself. He managed to roll over—another wave of agony hit him as his wounded back grinded against the stone beneath him. He could have crossed the room and lied in the bed instead, but he did not have the strength. Or the will.

He lay there limply, like a corpse, on the cold floor. He stared up at the ceiling above him, and he saw only darkness, a void blacker than death itself. He was in torture. He felt like he was buried beneath a thousand pounds—perhaps of guilt—and it was pressing down on him, slowly crushing him. Every second, it grew harder to breathe. Every inhale was laborious and caused sharp pain to cut through his chest. There was a snake inside of his ribcage, constricting his lungs, cutting off his airways. Each breath became shallower, fainter… His wounded body screamed in agony that did not cease or fade, as if it was on fire once more. Yet, the worst pain—the true torture—was the torment of his soul.

 _I killed them. I killed them all. I'm a murderer. I'm a monster. I deserve this. I deserve to suffer. I deserve to die._

He closed his eyes, knowing it would be better if they never opened again. It would be better for everyone. It would be better if he just died. It would have been better if Obi-Wan never saved him on Mustafar. It would have been better if he left him. It would have been better if he killed him.

He could barely breathe now. He could hear his lungs wheezing, rattling like wind through dead tree branches, as they barely managing to pull in each strained gulp of air. He did not know how much longer he would be able to keep breathing like this—to keep breathing at all. Maybe he would suffocate, he thought as pain and suffocation began to pull him under like a drug. Maybe he would die now… and spare all of them a lot of trouble and suffering.

 _I hope I die._

He meant it. He wanted to die. Hell, that was the only thing he could do now, wasn't it? He could not keep going, now that he realized the truth, now that he saw the reality of what he had done. He could not bear the guilt or face his sins. He could not face his family. He could not face his brother—no, he raised him since he was a child; he was more like his father—Obi-Wan.

So it would be better if he were simply to die. To fall asleep and never wake up. To close his eyes and never open them again. To stop breathing. Breathing hurt him—tortured him—anyway. To stop breathing was easier than to keep breathing. It was so easy, he then realized. Dying was easy. All of this time, he had been hold on, clinging to his life by one hand, hanging on by a thread. It was hard. It was painful. Exhausting. He was so tired. He was tired of living. Tired of suffering. Tired of holding on. All he had to do now was let go.

So he did.

* * *

It was some twenty minutes later, when Obi-Wan arrived outside Anakin's cell to find him unconscious on the floor, vomit and blood splattered around him, the oxygen tubes no longer in his nose but thrown uselessly to the side, some of the IV tubes ripped out of him, his eyes closed, his skin as pale as death, his lips practically blue, dried blood around his mouth, and his body completely motionless. Lifeless.

Fear seized his heart. He ran into the cell, and knelled down beside Anakin's still body. "Anakin!" he said urgently. He took him by the shoulders and shook him firmly, trying to wake him.

He did not stir.

Obi-Wan's hand flew to Anakin's neck. His own heart was pounding like a hammer inside of him, as he felt for a pulse… It was so faint, Obi-Wan almost missed it. But it was there.

He sighed in relief, and it felt like a hundred pounds was lifted off of his shoulders. He started to breathe again. Until this moment, he did not realize that he had been holding his breath. Anakin's chest, he realized a few moments later, was just barely moving, rising and falling. He was barely breathing.

Obi-Wan yelled for the droids to come at once. By the time they got there, not even a full minute later, Obi-Wan had picked Anakin up off of the floor, carried him across the room, and lied him down in bed. Now, he was putting a plastic mask over Anakin's mouth and turning on the respirator. "Quickly!" Obi-Wan said urgently as the droids rushed in and surrounded Anakin. "He needs treatment at once. He's dying."

Obi-Wan stayed by Anakin's side, watching the droids in restless anxiety, pacing slightly, trying hard to keep his fear inside of him, praying his brother would not die, until Anakin's lungs started functioning properly, the heart monitor beside the bed started beeping at a fairly steady rate, and the droids told Obi-Wan the patient would survive. Obi-Wan sighed heavy, and another hundred pounds were lifted off of his shoulders. He stayed with Anakin a few minutes longer, as if to make sure he was really alive. Then he thanked the droids and went out.

He found Yoda and Organa—neither of them were anywhere to be found fifteen minutes ago when Obi-Wan discovered Anakin half-dead on the floor of his cell—outside in the hall, silently watching the ordeal. Upon seeing them, an unexpected flare of anger sprang up inside of Obi-Wan. When they turned their heads to meet his eyes, the Jedi glared at them.

"Anakin was almost dead when I found him," he told them in a low, bitter tone, as he approached the two and stood boldly before them, his arms crossed in indignation. "Where were you? I thought I could trust you, at least, to bring him back to his cell. I didn't think it was that hard of a task."

"Bring him back to his cell we did," Yoda replied calmly, and just as coldly.

"And you did not even help him get in bed." At the thought, Obi-Wan's anger increased. His voice became a bit sharper and a bit louder as he questioned accusingly, "You just left him on the floor, vomiting all over the place, coughing up his lungs?"

Neither Yoda nor Organa knew how to answer that.

Obi-Wan glared at them, struggling to control his anger and remain calm. Obi-Wan was generally a calm man. A Jedi, placid, composed, respectful, having mastered control over his emotions and actions. Now, however, for the first time, everything he loved was in danger of dying. In such a time, it was hard to keep clear head. That is why the Jedi were not supposed to love anyone or anything. Love was what got them into this mess in the first place. So Obi-Wan tried to stay calm. "You did not tell the droids to care for Anakin," he said through clenched teeth, anger smoldering in his eyes.

"I did not," Yoda agreed. "More important things I had to attend to."

"More important," he repeated, a bit appalled by this reply but doing well not to shout at Yoda and Organa, which is what he would have really liked to do in this instance. "Was it more important than a man's life?"

"He is a criminal, Obi-Wan," Organa solemnly joined in, "not a victim. Not an innocent. I understand that you cared for the boy, but he is not the same person he used to—"

"I do not care who he is. Letting anyone suffer like this is barbaric. Yoda…" Obi-Wan turned to the old Jedi. "This is not the Jedi way. The Code forbids inhumane treatment of any prisoner."

"The Jedi are no more, Master Kenobi," said Yoda, and he added brutally, "Your apprentice killed them. Abide by the Jedi Code we can no longer. Only defeat that will bring upon—"

"Yoda, do you not realize he could have died!?" Obi-Wan burst out, unable to contain his outrage any longer.

Yoda answered pitilessly, "And better for us all it would have been."

Obi-Wan was already opening his mouth to reply, but upon hearing this, his words fell dead. He stared at Yoda, his jaw slightly agape, too shocked to speak.

"He is a murderer, Obi-Wan," Yoda continued. "All of us he betrayed, and hundreds of innocent people. The only just punishment…" He sighed and finished heavily, "death is." For the first time, his voice became a note softer and a look of pity appeared in his eyes. However, it was not pity for Anakin, but pity for Obi-Wan. This affair, Yoda knew, was killing him as much as it was killing Anakin. "Sorry I am, my young friend. But hide from the truth we cannot."

He wanted to object. But how could he? Even Obi-Wan knew this was true. He gritted his teeth—as if to endure physical pain without crying out—and looked away.

"I spoke with my wife, Obi-Wan," Organa said quietly after a moment. "She and the court are willing to give Anakin a fair hearing. You and Yoda will be included in the court's decision as well."

Bail's wife, Breha Organa, was the queen of Alderaan, which was where Padmé and the remaining Jedi had taken refuge. Now that Palpatine was in control of the Senate—the new "Empire," actually—Obi-Wan did not think it was safe to return to Coruscant from Mustafar. So, instead, he brought Anakin to Alderaan, where he knew they would help him. However, it was inevitable that, after they saved him, they would have to punish Anakin. That was justice.

"Thank you, Bail," Obi-Wan muttered without glancing at him. In truth, he was grateful to Organa for everything he had done to help him, and Padmé, and the babies, and even Anakin. But with all of this stress, and sorrow, and confusion, and anger inside of him, it was hard to act thankful. How could he be thankful for anything when everything he cared about was dying?

He ran a hand—he noticed the blood on the bandages for the first time—over his face, closed his eyes, and sighed heavily, trying to clear his head. He was still struggling to take all of this in. Even though he new it was real, it seemed impossible. Like a dream.

"I'm going to check on Padmé and the children," he finally mumbled, but he was really just looking for an excuse to be alone. He did not say another word—and they did not say another word to him—as he turned his back on them and went away. He walked down the corridor in silence, consumed in troublesome thought. Layers of emotion had built up inside of him like sedimentary rock, and his heart was becoming far too crowded. Terrible pressure filled his chest, pressing out on his ribcage, making him feel like he was going to explode.

Obi-Wan was a Jedi. He was used to ignoring his feelings, concealing his emotions, keeping everything inside of him… But this… this was more that he had ever had to endure before. And it was something even the great Master Kenobi was not sure he could bear.

For the first time in a long time, he was confused. No, not simply confused… conflicted. It seemed, everything in side of him, everything he loved, all of the things he swore his loyalty to, were at war with each other. His allegiance to the Jedi and his allegiance to his friends, his loyalty to the Republic and his loyalty to his brother, his hatred for the Dark Side and his love for its newest apprentice, his vowel to destroy the Sith and his vowel to save Anakin. How was he supposed to destroy the Sith and save his brother? He couldn't. It was impossible, because the very idea contradicted itself. Anakin was a Sith. Anakin was his brother. Anakin was his enemy. Anakin was his closest friend. So he was torn. …Not unlike Anakin, whose judgment was impaired and whose eyes were blinded by fear for those he loved.

But Obi-Wan was stronger than that.

* * *

When Anakin woke up, he was lying in the bed again. There were tubes in his nose and several in his upper arm and shoulder (anywhere they could find a vein really). He suspected he was tied down, but he made no effort to find out. He was too weak to get up, too weak to move at all. So, without so much as flexing a muscle, he closed his eyes and waited.

What was he waiting for? He had no idea. Something. Anything. He was waiting for any word from Padmé, for any word about his children, for any reassurance that his family was safe, for any visit from his captors, for a droid to come in and give him some kind of medical treatment that he would not pay attention to, for a Jedi to come in and inform him that he was going to be executed. He was waiting for death to come take him out of his misery.

For the next days—a time which seem more like weeks, months, an eternity—Anakin remained alone, occasionally accompanied by droids who would not speak to him but simply give him some kind of treatment and leave. He lied there, feeling as if he was dead already, staring numbly at the ceiling, his body limp, his lungs only moving because a respirator was forcing them to, a hollow pit in his gut, and a rock in his chest where his heart should have been. Struggling to swallow the agony, that of his body and that of his soul, which was even worse.

It was days before anything changed. At first, that change was subtle. (They were giving him less sedatives; he had to be conscious more; they were giving him less pain medication; he had to endure more pain; but, at the same time, the pain was—very slowly—decreasing; very slowly, he was healing.) Then, the droids took the tubes out of his nose, and he had to breathe without them. That in itself was torture. If they were trying to make him suffer for his crimes, they had succeeded. (It was hard to breathe; it hurt his chest terribly. A couple of time they had to put an oxygen mask over his face for a few hours, because his chest would close up and he would start to suffocate. At last, his lungs got strong enough, and he was surviving without the aid of a machine.) Still, the real change did not come until almost a week later, when the door slid open and, instead of the medical droids he was expecting, standing in the entrance was Padmé Amidala.

"Padmé!" Anakin exclaimed, shocked see her. A hundred feelings flooded into his heart, but the strongest of these were joy and guilt. Guilt crushed him. Like the metal foot of a AT-AT. He found that he could not look her in the eye. He diverted his gaze to the stone floor and tried to find words on his lips… None came. He did not know what to say to her.

Before he could say anything, Padmé rushed across the room, desperate to get to him, just to touch him again, and planted her mouth on top of his. Anakin had no choice but to close his eyes and kiss her back. "Oh, Anakin," she said quietly when she finally ended it.

With difficultly, Anakin looked up and looked into her pretty brown eyes. "How are—"

"They're fine," she answered before he could finish. There was no question he was asking about his children. "They're good, actually," she went on, and she began tenderly caressing Anakin's face with her hand as she spoke. (To her great relief, his skin no longer felt like the heat of Mustafar; the fever was gone now.) "Luke looks so much like you, Ani. And Leia is so beautiful. They're both so precious."

Anakin nodded. He forced a weak smile onto his lips, but it was a pang of sorrow that pierced his heart at the thought of his children. He looked away from Padmé and muttered softly, "I wish I could be with them. I wish I could be with you."

Padmé pressed her hand against Anakin's cheek. "I know, Ani," she whispered. Her voice cracked slightly. She cleared her throat and forced her voice to sound strong before she went on, "But Obi-Wan has been helping me care for them."

At the mention of his name, Anakin's stomach twisted violently into a knot—as if his intestines suddenly sprung to life and attacked his other organs—and he wanted to throw up again. It was hard enough to face Padmé now. However, he knew how much she still loved him; he knew she had forgiven him (even though he knew he did not deserve forgiveness), so he could do it. But how was he ever supposed to face Obi-Wan Kenobi? He couldn't. Anakin knew he would never be able to face his brother Obi-Wan again.

"Is he with them now?" he asked flatly, his heart as heavy as stone inside of him, weighing him down.

Padmé shook her head. "3PO is watching them. Obi-Wan had to go with the court, because…" She trailed off and did not finish that sentence. Then Anakin saw something—distress, fear—come into her eyes. She looked away. Dread collected in his stomach like a bad meal. He knew something was wrong.

"What? What is it?" Rethinking over what she last said, he was suddenly confused. "Wait, what court? Padmé, what are you talking about? What's going on?"

She took a deep breath, as if to brace herself before she could face the truth, and met his eyes again. "Obi-Wan, Yoda, Bail, Queen Organa, and a few members of the Senate and court of Alderaan who we know can be trusted are going to give you a fair hearing."

Anakin's heart plummeted into his gut. Now, he was even more certain he would throw up. Anxiously, even fearfully, he asked, "When?"

Padmé swallowed. "Now."

"Now!" Padmé watched distress flood into Anakin's eyes like tears. "But… But, Padmé…"

"It'll be alright, Anakin," Padmé assured him, but it seemed she was trying to convince herself that this was true. They both knew it wasn't. "Obi-Wan will be there. He's going to help them make their decision." She could not bring herself to say it, but they both knew this "decision" meant whether Anakin lived or died.

Anakin nodded and looked away. For Padmé's sake, he did not say anything. However, he knew very well—and he thought Padmé did too; she just could not admit it to herself—that Obi-Wan could do very little to change his verdict, his sentence. His fate. Obi-Wan was only one man, and he was an honest man. A just man. A good man. Even if he cared for Anakin and Padmé, even if they were the closest thing to a family he had, he could not bend the rules of justice for them. He could not pardon crimes that deserved to be punished.

"I'm supposed to help you get dressed," Padmé said a few moments later, as if just remembering the reason she had come in. For the first time, Anakin noticed that she had brought some of his own clothes with her: all black garments folded into a square. He nodded wordlessly, and Padmé did what she had been sent to do.

First, she released Anakin from the restrains holding him down. Then, she put her arms around him and helped him sit up. "Are you still in a lot of pain?" she asked, cringing herself as she watched him try not to cringe.

"It's not that bad anymore," Anakin answered for her sake. It was not exactly true.

She nodded, and she proceeded to, very carefully, trying to to let it rub against his wounds, help him take off the robe he had been wearing even since they arrived here. By this point, red stains had embedded themselves in the white fabric. Anakin's burns were no longer wrapped in bandages. They had healed enough by this point, as the medical technology they had here on Alderaan was exceptional. However, half of Anakin's body, from his stomach down, had been damaged badly by the fire. Thin layers of skin were growing back over the gruesome wounds, but they still looked horrible.

Anakin was embarrassed for Padmé to see him like this, with fake limbs, covered in scars, so weak, so helpless. He was embarrassed that he could not even dress himself without someone helping him. Most of all, he was ashamed. He was ashamed of what he had become. Physically, but mostly spiritually.

Padmé tried not to look at the burns as she helped Anakin get dressed. He tried not to look either. He already felt like throwing up.

They were both relieved when Anakin was dressed and his wounds were covered. Now, instead of the one black glove to cover the lower half of his fake arm, he wore two. Black boots hid his fake feet, black pants hid his fake legs, and everything else was hidden by a black tabard and a black cloak. The only thing he did not wear was his old utility belt, because (needless to say) he would not be carrying any weapons, and the belt, itself, would just rub against his burnt stomach and hurt him worse. Thus, Anakin found himself dressed in clothes he thought he would never wear again: the apparel of a Jedi. It seemed wrong to wear such attire, but it was all he had. Besides, garbed in all black, now his exterior reflected his interior: his fallen soul.

Anakin was on his feet now, and Padmé stood before him, her hands on his shoulders. She held him at arm's length and looked him up and down. For the first time since he was cut into pieces on Mustafar, he looked himself again. He still looked unhealthy—the shadows under his eyes, the redness inside of them, the pallor of his face—but he looked so much better than he had when she saw him last. With his wounds and fake limbs covered, he almost looked the same as he used to. He almost looked unchanged. Except for the look of hollowness—emptiness—in his eyes.

That was something Padmé had never seen in Anakin before. A look of numbness, almost deadness. As if he would rather be dead than alive. There was guilt, regret, sorrow, grief, shame, disgrace, and passionate hatred—pure loathing—for himself. That was something she had never seen in Anakin until now.

"Anakin…" Padmé whisper. She slid her hands from his shoulders to up around his neck. She stepped closer to him, and his hands naturally fell into place around her thin waist. She closed her eyes, Anakin did the same, and their foreheads came together to rest upon each other. They stood together in that dark prison cell, almost as if they were about to dance. Instead, kept their eyes closed and held each other tightly, wishing somehow all of this could pass away, be a dream… But it wasn't.

"I love you, Anakin," Padmé whispered.

He pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her back and holding her against his chest. She rested her head against his shoulder. "I love you, Padmé," Anakin whispered into her ear. "No matter what happens, I will always, always love you. That is one thing that can never change."

Padmé nodded against him. She blinked hard, trying to force tears out of her eyes before Anakin released her from his embrace and they looked into each other faces once more. They were scared. Terrified. They did not know what was going to happen. They did not know if Anakin would be imprisoned for the rest of if life, or if his life would not last until the next day. They did not even know if they would see each other again. For all they knew, this was their last chance they had to say whatever they wanted to say. This was their last chance to say, I love you.

"If I'm not there…" Anakin began slowly. He took Padmé's soft hands gently in his own, and he was glad to be wearing gloves now, so Padmé did not have to feel cold metal against her skin. Instead, she felt warmth. Love. Before he could go on, he diverted his gaze and stared at her hands instead of her eyes. "…when they are old enough, tell Luke and Leia how much their father loved them…"

Padmé wanted to protest. She wanted to say, Of course, you will be there, Anakin! Do not talk like that! Do not even think like that! But there was no sense to pretend any longer. It did no good to hide from the truth. So, trying to be strong, trying not to cry, she nodded and whispered, "I will."

Then, the comlink they had given Padmé to carry beeped. (It felt a bit strong; usually it was Anakin carrying a comlink, not Padmé.) She scrambled to withdraw it from her pocket and answered it. "Yes?" she said anxiously, instinctually expecting the worst.

"You have one minute," the flat voice from the other side answered, and he hung up.

Anakin's insides twisted into a knot in his gut. His heart was suddenly racing. Padmé's face had gone a shade pallor. She slowly put the comlink back in her pocket, not knowing what else to do. She looked up at Anakin. She wanted to see his eyes, perhaps for the last time. But Anakin was not looking at her. He was still staring at her hands. He was unable to look her in the eye.

"What am I supposed to say to them?" he muttered miserably.

Padmé as quiet for a moment. She, herself, did not quite know. "The truth," she finally answered in a whisper. She held his hands tighter. "Tell them the truth, Anakin. That is all you can do. …The truth will set you free."

The muscles in Anakin's jaws flexed as he gritted his teeth together. With great difficultly, he forced himself to mumble, "Only if you're innocent."

Padmé could not say anything to that. There was nothing more to say. For the rest of the final minute they had together, they wrapped their arms around each other and just stood there, holding each othering close, wishing time would stand still, wishing those last few seconds would last forever. "I love you, Padmé," Anakin murdered a final time against her ear.

Then the cell door opened with a slam. Two armored guards, equip with blasters in their hands and hatred in their eyes, stood in the entrance. They looked at the traitor pitilessly and displayed a pair of shackles, bound together by iron chains. They looked Anakin in the eye and commanded, "Let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

****Sworn to Darkness****

CHAPTER VII

Anakin was torn away from Padmé before he could tell her he loved her one more time. She tried to hold onto his hand as long as she could, but they seized him and dragged him away from her. His hand was ripped out of her grasp, and Padmé watched helplessly as they twisted his arms behind his back and lock his wrists in chains.

They lead him abruptly away, not taking heed of his wounds, gripping his injured body as if trying to hurt him worse, and forcing him roughly away from Padmé. Anakin struggled to look over his shoulder as they dragged him out of the cell and down the corridor, trying to get a final glimpse of his beloved Padmé. She was stumbling after them, trying to keep up. Their eyes met for only a second. "I love you, Anakin!" she cried out for a final time. He opened his mouth to tell her the same. But before he could speak a word, they pulled him into another room and shut the door.

Anakin stared at the metal only inches in front of his face, dividing him from his wife. He thought about shouting, "I love you, Padme!" and hoping she would be able to hear him on the other side of those walls. Before he said a word, the guards yanked him forward. His neck whipped around painfully, and he stumbled forward, staring at his boots as they blundered over the floor. They dragged him several stepped farther into the room, until he must have been in the center of it.

"On his knees," an authority woman's voice ordered, and Anakin was pushed down by his shoulders. Pain cut through him as his knees hit the floor, and the impact jolted his body. He grinded his teeth, trying to force the pain down his throat. He was starring at the floor, and he did not want to look up. He did not want to have to look anyone in the eye. Still, his head bowed, he dared to peek up and steal a glance around.

He was in a room very similar to the council hall in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. However, it was much darker. There were no windows. Instead of the cushioned seats in a circle around the room, there were ridging marble chairs. Many of the seats were empty, as only those who could undoubtedly be trusted were invited to this meeting. In all, there was less than ten. Never looking directly into their faces, Anakin glanced at the people seated in the hall.

At the head of the room, directly in front of him, was the woman who had spoken. Queen Organa. Seated in her throne, although her throne was hardly any different than the other chairs, just slightly larger. At her right hand sat her husband, Bail Organa. To her left was a man, and beside him a woman, neither whom he recognized. He recognized the Senator Mon Mothma and a few other members of the senate. Beside Organa was Yoda. And beside Yoda… Anakin did not want to look. He could not bear to get even a glimpse of the man. He already knew who it was. Yet, as if his eyes were acting on their own accord, even when his mind was screaming at him not to look, he could not keep himself from glancing in that direction, and he caught a glimpse of him. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Obi-Wan was worried. Anakin did not even look at him for half a second, and he could see that Obi-Wan was worried. Scared. He could tell by the way he was sitting so tensely in his chair, his back erect and pressed against the back of his chair, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his hands in fists, his jaws clenched, and his eyes—even though Anakin took great care not to look at Obi-Wan's eyes, he knew—that were locked intently on him. Obi-Wan knew as well as Anakin that, although this was hearing, there could be only one verdict.

"Thank you guards," Queen Breha Organa said from the front of the court. "You may go."

They nodded, and Anakin felt them take their hands off of him. Their footsteps faded behind him, and he heard the door close when they went out. He stared at floor in front of him and waited.

"Anakin Skywalker," the queen addressed him directly. The queen's tone was cold and grave, the voice of one who is good but who is also just. Anakin knew there would be no pardon. "You have been accused of treason, against the Republic, the Jedi, and the galaxy. You are accused of joining the Dark Side and the Sith, assisting in the murder of multiple Jedi, as well as hundreds of innocent people; and you, yourself, of murdering all of the Younglings in the Jedi Temple: unarmed, defenseless, innocent children."

Every word was like a dagger in Anakin's chest, like another stone laid on top of him, crushing him, burying him in his grave. He kept his eyes locked on the floor, his head sinking lower and lower, as he drowned in his own guilt.

The queen asked him solemnly, "Have you anything to say in defense of yourself?"

This was it. He knew. This was the only moment, the only chance he had to say something and save himself. This was his one chance to say something to save his life, Padmé's heart, and his family's future. But what could he say? What kind of lie could justify what he had done? Even if Palpatine had forced him to do it, even if Palpatine said he would kill him if he did not, there was no excuse. Nothing, positively __nothing__ , he said could make his crimes worthy of anything except death.

 _ _The truth__ , he remembered what Padmé told him. __Tell them the truth.__ And what was the truth? That he had done these unspeakable things, because he thought it would save his wife and children. Because Palpatine lied to him, and Anakin was stupid enough to believe him. Because he was weak enough to turn to the Dark Side. That was the truth.

"Well?" the queen spoke again. "Do you have anything to say? Any defense for your actions?"

Anakin parted his lips and drew in a deep breath.

Obi-Wan clenched his teeth together so tightly that the joints of his jaws felt like they would pop (in the moment, he did not notice this). He did not realize if he was biting down on his tongue or the inside of his cheek, but he must have been, because a few seconds later he tasted blood in his mouth. Neither did he realize that he had stopped breathing. He stared at Anakin. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting…

Was he going to say anything!? __Go on, Anakin, say something. Say anything! If you don't say anything, they'll condemn you for sure…__

Anakin did say something. At last, he answered in a voice like a dead man's: "No."

Obi-Wan's heart sank as he let out his breath. With that sigh, it seemed all hope slipped away as well.

"Then you do not deny these charges against you?" asked the queen, clearly surprised by his response.

Anakin answered the same way. "No."

"And you have no justification for your actions?"

"No."

 _ _Damn,__ Obi-Wan cursed in his head. He shifted in his chair and brought up one hand to cover his mouth. So much for a hearing. There was nothing to be heard. Nothing to be said. Nothing to be decided. The decision, he knew all too well, was already made.

"Very well then," said Queen Organa. Her voice remained mostly indifferent, except they could hear a grave heaviness gather in his tone. "Then you know the only just penalty for your crimes is death." She said this to give Anakin one final chance to change his mind, one final chance to defend himself…

 _ _Anakin…__ Obi-Wan was holding his breath again, even though he knew there was no use. Nothing Anakin could say—nothing any of them could say—could change anything now. It was the past that would have to be undone, and that was impossible.

"I understand," said Anakin. He never looked up from the floor. His heart was like a rock in his chest. He could not feel anything. Nothing but the guilt weighing down on him. And, perhaps, a sense of acceptance, because he knew this was the way it should be. He knew this was justice.

"Why did you do it?" someone asked after a long moment of nothing, in which no one seemed quite sure what to do… or rather, they knew what they had to do, but they did not want to do it. "You seem to have realized that what you did was evil. So why did you do it?"

Anakin felt like he was going to be sick. It would be a miracle if he did not throw up by the time this was over. He answered flatly, "Palpatine told me to."

"Why would you listen to Palpatine?" asked someone else, a woman, Mon Mothma. "Palpatine told you to betray the Jedi, kill your own friends, and murder innocent children, and you __listened to him?__ " she questioned, appalled, unable to believe his story. "Why would you do that? Why would you listen to Palpatine? He's a __Sith Lord.__ You should have killed him!"

Anakin swallowed. It felt like there was a large lump in his throat, and it took much effort and pain to get it down. He forced himself to murmur in reply, "He told me he could save someone…"

"Save someone?"

"Someone I love, who I thought was in danger..."

"Senator Amidala," Bail Organa informed the court. (His wife already knew the entire situation, as did the present Jedi; however, the others in this court did not.) "She and Skywalker were married in secret."

"Thank you, Senator Organa," Yoda spoke for the first time. The tone in his voice was enough to silence Organa, warn him not to say too much. Not to mention the children.

"Why did you think she was in danger?" a man, whose voice Anakin did not know, demanded.

He gritted his teeth. It seemed to be getting harder and harder to answer each question, harder and harder to form each word on his lips and force them out of his mouth. What was the point of this? They all knew he was guilty. They all knew he deserved to die. Why did they ask so many questions? Why couldn't they just execute him and be done with it?

"I was having dreams," he murmured. "Force visions. The Jedi sometimes have visions of the future. I had the same kind of dreams before my mother die, so I thought…" He had to pause and swallowed again, as if choking down the guilt. "…I thought she was going to die."

"You foresaw Senator Amidala's death in a Force vision?"

"Yes."

"How did she die in the dream?"

"Why didn't you tell the Jedi about this? They could have helped you."

"Why did you think Palpatine could do anything to help you?"

Anakin was overwhelmed by so many questions, so many accusations. Every time they asked him something, more weight seemed to be weighing down on him and more pressure pushing out from inside of him. He felt like he was being buried alive. It was hard to breathe.

"Palpatine said…" he began slowly. "Palpatine said the Dark Side had the power to save people from dying. He said he could help me if I joined him."

"And you actually __believed__ him?"

"I… I was desperate," he stammered. "I didn't think… I wasn't thinking straight, I couldn't think."

"You should have told the Jedi about this," one of the men barked harshly at him, disgusted with him.

"Yes, you should have gone to the Jedi, not Palpatine. Not the Sith."

"The Jedi could have helped you, and hundreds of innocent people would not be dead right now."

You should have told the Jedi. You should not have believed Palpatine. You should not have been so stupid. You should not have turned to the Dark Side. You should not have betrayed the Republic. You should not have become a murderer. You should not have let yourself become a monster.

They kept saying all of these thing which Anakin had been yelling at himself for past week. Of course, he knew this now. Of course, he knew he should never have done what he did, and he would have given anything to turn back the time and change the past. But it was impossible. So his actions tortured his soul, tormented him like demons. Now, every time someone reminded him—in brutality and fury—that he should not have become a demon, it was like a bullet in Anakin, cutting him down, blow by blow, hit but hit. Killing him slowly. Slowly, so that it would torture him as he died.

"I agree," one of the men from Alderaan's court declared. "Why didn't you go to the Jedi?"

"He did," an unexpected voice said sharply from the other side of the hall. Anakin (and perhaps everyone else present) was so shocked to hear this man speak out in such a way—to actually __defend__ him—he reflexively looked up and turned his head. Fortunately, Obi-Wan was not looking at him, so their eyes did not meet. The Jedi was looking across the room at the court official who had spoken last, his face like stone and his eyes like ice.

Obi-Wan went on sternly, "Anakin did go to the Jedi for help, but they failed to give him any. They told him he could do nothing but let her die. They failed him. So he was desperate."

"No matter," Mon Mothma said quietly. "He should have listened to the Jedi. If he had, this would not have happened."

A murmur of agreement rustled around the court.

"He is a traitor and a murderer," another senator said, "and the fate of the entire galaxy is at stake because of him. Such crimes __cannot__ go unpunished."

Everyone, even Obi-Wan Kenobi, knew this was true.

There was little more discussion, a few more questions asked, a lot more furious accusations and revolted insults hurled at Anakin. He spoke only when he had to, dryly answering whatever they demanded of him. He told the truth. He did not make excuses. He did not defend himself. He did not try to make his crimes seem any less than they were. He did not try to make it seem as if he was not to blame. He knew—perhaps better than anyone; as he was the one being crushed by the guilt—that the entirely of the blame lied on him.

It was not long before the court ran out of questions. They knew what had happened. The evidence—the destruction—was right before their eyes. That alone was enough to make a decision. Silence fell over the council, as each member came to the same somber understanding: there was only one decision.

A moment passed. The silence was thick with tension. They could all feel it, hovering around them, invisible barriers between them. Obi-Wan sat stiffly in his chair, one arm folded tightly over his chest, and one hand pressed against his mouth, as if to keep himself from shouting out in protest. His eyes—they were cold and hard to read as usually, concealing his emotions, such were the eyes of a Jedi; however, even so, there was visible sadness in them—were fixed on Anakin. Anakin stared at the floor and waited. Queen Organa cast her eyes on prisoner and asked a final time, "Do you have anything else to say?"

Anakin shook his head and answered in a whisper, "No."

The queen sighed. Her duty was to secure justice. However, it was never a happy thing to sentence a man to death. Especially a man who would not even defend himself. Especially a man who was hardly more than a boy. Especially a man whom, only weeks ago, the entire galaxy venerated like a hero. Anakin had failed everyone, not just the Jedi, not just his family, not just his brother. He had broken the heart of the entire galaxy.

The Queen turned her head to address those sitting in the chairs around her. "What does the court decide?" she asked solemnly. "Guilty?"

Then, one by one, everyone nodded and agreed. "Guilty."

"Guilty."

"Guilty."

"Guilty."

That same word continued sounded in the hall, as if echoing off of the walls. Anakin merely stared at the floor and waited for them to finish. After everyone else had spoken—had agreed that he was, indeed, guilty—Anakin recognized Senator Organa's voice. The man's heart was heavy, but he answered nonetheless, "Guilty."

Then Yoda said, "Guilty."

Then Obi-Wan said…

Anakin waited, but Obi-Wan did not say anything. He was staring at the floor, so he did not see if Obi-Wan gestured or made some sort of sign to suggest "guilty," or if he chose simply to say nothing at all. Either way it made no difference. Everyone else had already voted, and everyone else had already confirmed what everyone already knew. Anakin Skywalker—Darth Vader—was guilty.

"Then it is decided," Queen Organa said weightily. "Anakin Skywalker, you have been found guilty of treason and murder. By the law of Alderaan, you are hereby sentenced…" She drew in a deep breath, as if to brace herself and take a blow without flinching. "…to execution."

Obi-Wan's stomach clenched like a fist. A bitter coldness, like the pitiless winter wind, cut through him, and it turned his heart into ice. He looked around the hall, as if he expected someone to protest, even though he knew no one would. Everyone was looking at the floor, or at the queen, or at anything that was not the convicted man, and nodding their head in solemn approval. Even Anakin nodded. Even he agreed. This was the right decision. He could not keep living. Even if the court spared him, he could not live with himself.

"By our laws, you have a choice," Obi-Wan vaguely heard the queen saying from what seemed a far distance away (even though, she had not gotten up from her chair). "You may have a day in confident to see your family. Or the execution can take place immediately following this trial."

He never heard which Anakin chose. He rose to his feet. "Queen Organa," he addressed Breha, stealing her attention. In the next moment, every eye in the hall was fixed on him… with the exception of Anakin, who glanced at him and then quickly looked away.

Obi-Wan heard Yoda sigh from his chair beside him. "In to this we never should have brought you, Obi-Wan," the old Jedi spoke with pity. Then, addressing the entire court, he explained, "Too close to Skywalker Master Kenobi was. Like brothers." Obi-Wan ignored him.

"Your Majesty," he continued indifferently, a voice that seemed to care for the condemned man as little as everyone else in the hall. Without so much as a glance at Anakin, he strode boldly across the chamber and came to stand before the queen… between her and Anakin. "Before we execute this man, I think we should consider what it would mean for the galaxy."

The queen, who was looking at Obi-Wan alone now, frowned, bewildered by this remark. "What do you mean?"

"Palpatine and his armies are already very powerful, and their power will only continue to grow. Yoda and myself are the only Jedi left, and we are not strong enough to face them on our own."

"Of course, not," agreed Bail Organa from his seat beside the queen. "But there are still many people loyal to the Republic and many systems who will join us in the effort to resist the new Empire. Alderaan will not stand alone."

"I understand that," Obi-Wan agreed. "However, starships and blasters are not enough to fight what we are up against. Palpatine is a Sith Lord, and if he is smart he will have already begun training a new apprentice. The power of the Dark Side cannot be matched except by the Light Side of the Force. If it is the Sith attacking us, it will take the Jedi to defend us. Master Yoda can confirm this."

Everyone turned their heads to stare at Yoda. The old Jedi nodded gravely, confirming everything Obi-Wan had said. "True it is. Essential to this rebellion the Jedi will be."

A weighty silence fell over the court as this information settled over their hearts, like darkness settling over a planet once its sun has set. They realized what this meant for them, for Alderaan… for the entire galaxy. The Queen sighed and turned her attention—and her trust—back to the man before her. "So what do you propose we do, Master Kenobi?"

"We destroy the Empire from the inside out."

The queen gave another quizzical look. "How is that possible?"

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment before he answered, "With Anakin Skywalker it is possible."

There was an immediately objection throughout the court. Everybody was muttering protests; some loudly voiced their opinion; and a few even rose from the chairs, shouting angrily at Obi-Wan. Someone even cried, "He is a traitor plotting with Skywalker! Execute them both!" The only one who did not protest was the queen, who never took her eyes off of Obi-Wan's.

"Enough!" Breha silenced the court, motioning with her hand for everyone to stop speaking and to sit down. When the chaos died down, she addressed Obi-Wan, who did not react to any of the protest around him. "Explain what you mean."

He nodded, grateful for the opportunity to go on. He looked away from Breha for a moment to address the entire council. "We all know Anakin Skywalker is a traitor and a murder, and his actions are worthy of death. However, he is an extremely powerful Jedi, and —"

"He is not a Jedi," one of the men interrupted angrily. "He is a Sith!"

"Anakin, you have renounced the Dark Side, have you not?" Obi-Wan unexpectedly addressed the prisoner, turning to face him. Then everyone was staring at Anakin.

His stomach turned over inside of him when Obi-Wan spoke to him, and he immediately diverted his gaze, desperate to look anywhere except at the Jedi. His heart lodged itself in his throat, and he was unable to produce a reply. He looked around the council, stunned they were willing to so much as consider his word on anything now. For a moment, his eyes fell upon the queen.

"Answer him," she ordered firmly.

Anakin looked away and stared at the floor. His heart was suddenly racing inside of him, as he tried to produce an answer. Had he? Had he renounced the Dark Side? Of course, he had. He hated the Dark Side more than anything now. He would have rather died than go back to the Dark Side. But, for some reason that he could not quite grasp at the time, saying it aloud seemed so wrong. How could he tell these people he had renounced the Dark Side after what he had done to them? How could he say he had renounced the Dark Side when the Dark Side was __inside of him?__

But, then, he thought of Obi-Wan, who had scarified so much for him, who had saved his life and his family's lives, who was trying to help him still, even though he did not deserve any of it. Now, if Anakin could do anything to help Obi-Wan, he would do it. So he muttered quietly, "Yes."

Despite the suspicious murmur he heard around him, Obi-Wan nodded brusquely, satisfied with this answer, and turned his back on Anakin. "Palpatine believes Skywalker is still loyal to the Dark Side and to him, and we can use that to our advantage," Obi-Wan went on, and a look of realization appeared in the eyes of many present as they began to understand. "I suggest, we send him back to Palpatine. He will pretend to do the Empire's bidding, report all of their dealings to us, inform us of their battle plans, their strategies, when and where they plan to attack, etc. In this way, we will be able to defeat the Empire's armies. And when the time comes, Skywalker will assassinate Palpatine. He will have little trouble. Palpatine trusts him more than anyone else."

Queen Organa leaned back in her chair. A look of approval—even admiration—gleamed in her eyes as she looked at the Jedi and nodded. "We destroy them from the inside out," she repeated, and a faint smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. "It could work."

Obi-Wan nodded. "It could."

The room fell quiet as everyone took in what had been said. They pondered how it could help them, how it could hurt them, what it could gain, and what it would cost. And it would mean Anakin Skywalker was not punished for his treason.

"We would certainly have a better chance than we would otherwise," Bail Organa said thoughtfully, and many murmured their agreement.

"Wait," one of the senators finally objected, holding up a hand. He looked scornfully at Anakin. "This man is a traitor and murderer, and his crimes cannot be pardoned. It would be wrong to set him free simply because he is powerful. Skywalker __must__ be punished."

"And he will be," Obi-Wan answered immediately, as if he had planned on it all along. "Just not yet. After this war is over and Palpatine is dead and the Republic restored, the Senate will decide his fate." He glanced at Anakin before he added, "If he serves us well in the rebellion, perhaps he will receive a less severe sentence."

Although many remained reluctant to agree to this, most seemed to think it was a fair negotiation. They all knew how valuable Anakin would be to them. There was not one in the galaxy who had not heard of the famous Anakin Skywalker and of all his great deeds. How he was so strong with the Force, how, even as a padawan, he saved his master's life several times, how he killed Count Dooku… the list went on. They knew how powerful he was. They knew what he had to offer them. They knew their chance of winning this war was far greater if they kept him alive and on their side.

"He could be very useful," Bail said, but one of the other men added coldly, " _ _If__ he is even willing to help us."

"I'll do it," Anakin said abruptly. Everyone turned to him in surprise. This was the first time in the entire hearing that he had spoken willingly.

Until this point, he had watched in silence and in shock as Obi-Wan bargained for his life. He did not want to do it. The thought of going back to Palpatine, taking orders from him, submitting to his commands, even if only to betray him later, was almost unbearable. The very thought of returning to the Dark Side, even if only ask a mask, made him sick. What was even worse was that he would have to face the galaxy again, everyone who once looked up to him but now hated him because he betrayed them. Anakin did not think he would be able to live with the guilt. He did not think he would be able to live with himself.

But now — although he knew he did not deserve it — a possibility had presented itself to him, and he could not resist it: the chance to kill Palpatine. That was enough to set a flame ablaze in his cold, dark soul, and his dead heart began to beat again. Now, he had the chance to set at least one thing right. He had a chance to kill the man who deceived him in the first place, the one who tricked him, the one who manipulated him into becoming this demon he was now. Anakin was eager to seize it.

Anakin looked Queen Organa in the eye and said with certainly, "I'll do it. I will do anything I can to help destroy the Empire."

She stared back at him, her dark eyes piercing him, as if she was trying to see through him, trying to figure him out. At last, she asked stonily, "Why?"

Anakin found himself looking at the floor again as guilt crushed him. "I've seen the Dark Side myself now," he muttered with difficulty. It was hard to admit. It was hard to face. "I know who they are now. I know what they can do." He heaved a great sigh and raised his head. He met the queen's eyes once more and spoke with strength in his voice, "And I will do __anything__ I can to help stop them. I want to stop them. I want to kill Palpatine."

Queen Organa continued to look into Anakin's eyes, searching them for any sign of dishonesty, deceit, other intensions… She saw nothing but sincerity. And guilt. And regret. And the desire to help rebuild what he destroyed. She nodded. Obi-Wan nodded also. This was the first time since Mustafar he heard Anakin speak in a voice that seemed to belong to the same young man he once knew and loved. In fact, everyone seemed to gain at least a bit of reassurance having heard Anakin say this. Everyone except Yoda.

Yoda's heart was more uneasy than ever. When Anakin made that last declaration — _"_ _ _I want to kill Palpatine" —__ Yoda saw in him the same fire, the same __darkness,__ that got them into this mess in the first place. It was anger, hatred, desire for vengeance, thirst for blood… Such things were not the Jedi way. Such were not the way of the Light. They were the way of the Sith, the way of evil. And they led straight to the Dark Side.

Queen Organa looked carefully at the prisoner before her. She saw no deceit in him. When he said this to her, she believed he was telling the truth, he wanted to help, he had renounced the Dark Side, he would destroy Palpatine. She believed him. But, of course, in order to deceive somebody, one must first make her believe him. She sighed and turned to Obi-Wan. "How could we ever trust him again?" she asked heavily.

"We can't," Obi-Wan replied coldly, which was a surprise to many in the court. "After what he has done, we can never trust him again." Anakin felt a pang of guilt like a knife in his heart. "But it makes little difference," the Jedi went on, seemingly oblivious of the pain he was causing his brother (although, for certain, he really knew). "He will remain oblivious of the rebellion's movements, thus be unable to hand us to our enemies, and we will monitor ever move he makes to ensure he is doing what he is ordered. If he turns on us, we will kill him with the other Sith."

"But he is so powerful —" one of the others started to protest.

"I've already beaten him in combat once," Obi-Wan answered unconcerned. "If it comes to it, I'll do it again. And next time, I'll kill him."

Anakin was surprised — and honestly quite distressed — to hear Obi-Wan talk like this. It made the guilt even harder to bear, knowing that Obi-Wan had not forgiven him (that much was obvious). And why should he? Anakin did not deserve forgiveness. He could not hope for forgiveness, or even think about asking for it. His crimes were unforgivable. Clearly, Obi-Wan knew this as well.

Then, why was he trying so hard to save him? That Anakin could not understand. If Obi-Wan hated him now — which he should hate him now; Anakin even hated himself now; perhaps he hated himself more than anyone else in the galaxy hated him now …which was saying a lot — why was he doing so much to help him?

Because he still loved him. Anakin realized this a moment later. Perhaps Obi-Wan hated him, but he also loved him. Although Obi-Wan would never forgive him for his treason, neither would he betray his brother like his brother betrayed him. Obi-Wan was better than that.

Queen Organa thought in silence for a long time. At length, she turned to the Jedi before her. "I have known you for many years, Master Kenobi," she said quietly. "You are one of the few people I know we can trust. However, I want you look me in the eye and tell me the truth. Do you really believe Anakin Skywalker will the difference between our defeat and victory in this war?"

Obi-Wan looked her straight in the eye and told the truth. "Absolutely."

She leaned back in her chair. "Very well then. I agree with Master Kenobi's proposal. However, I will let the court discuss this and make a final decision."

Obi-Wan bowed his head to the queen and returned to his seat. He sat tensely in his chair, far from being at ease. Although there seemed to be hope left, this was not over yet. A moment later, Obi-Wan sensed a pair of eyes watching him carefully. He turned his head and found himself looking straight back at Yoda. One glance, and Obi-Wan new the master disapproved greatly of everything he had done. Yoda was disappointed in him. Perhaps, he believed Obi-Wan was not acting in the interest of the rebellion, at all, but simply because he cared about Anakin — which was not true, of course (at least, Obi-Wan kept telling himself it was not true). Obi-Wan looked away from Yoda and ignored him.

Anakin was taken out and escorted to a small room where, locked and guarded, he waited in solitude for the court to make a decision. Back inside the throne room, Breha Organa addressed the council: "All of us must try to make the decision that will benefit not ourselves —" She looked at Obi-Wan. "— not our friends, or our families, but the entire galaxy. The Republic."

Much debate followed. Most people seemed to have mixed feelings on the matter, reluctant to decide on anything, and they would have to be convinced one way or the other. Obi-Wan was Anakin's strongest support and Yoda his strongest opposition. Fast tension rose between the master and his old pupil. Obi-Wan was still a Youngling when Yoda trained him, but he maintained strong esteem for the Jedi ever since. Now, however, the mutual respect they held for each other seemed to be diminishing.

At last, a verdict was reached, and Anakin was brought before the court once more. He glanced at Obi-Wan as he entered the room, but he was not looking at him. By the way he was sitting in his chair, his arms crossed, his eyes on the queen, his face like stone, Anakin could not begin to guess what they had decided. He glanced at Yoda, but he was staring at the floor in thought as impossible to read as Obi-Wan's. So at last, he looked at the queen.

She looked him in the eyes, and he felt her gaze cut him like a knife.

His heart was pounding. He held his breath. _This is it_ _ _…__

She addressed him solemnly, "We've made a decision."


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, everyone. Sorry for the delay; just got back from vacation. But here's a long chapter to make for it.** **Thank you again for reading. Thank you for your support, time, interest, feedback, reviews, follows, favorites. It really means a lot! Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 **Sworn to Darkness**

CHAPTER VIII

The corridor was silence, except for the sound of their footsteps. He walked with his head lowered, his eyes on the floor, and his hands in metal cuffs behind his back. The two guards held him by the arms and shoulders, and Bail Organa marched beside them with a blaster in hand. When they arrived at their destination, Organa punched in a code, and the door unlocked. He pulled it open without knocking, and—to Anakin's great surprise—Mon Mothma and Padmé were standing in the room beyond.

She turned as soon as she heard the lock click. Her eyes were red and swollen. Although she was not crying now, it was obvious she had been. (Mon Mothma just explained everything to her, everything that had happened at the hearing and everything that was going to happen next.) Upon seeing Anakin, Padmé looked like she might burst into tears all over. Without hesitating a second, she rushed forward to meet him.

"Senator Mothma has explain everything to you?" Organa asked as she reached him.

"Yes," Padmé answered, her voice full of anxiety. "I understand."

He nodded and drew a small piece of paper out of his pocket. "Here is the code to unlock the door," he said, handing it to her. "Read it and memorize it. You must not have it written down anywhere."

"Excuse me, Senator Organa," one of the guards spoke out in disapproval. "You're giving the security code to his _wife?_ Do you really think that is a wise idea?"

"She is an esteemed member of the Senate, and she is loyal to the Republic," Organa dismissed the protest. "She can be trusted."

"Thank you, Bail," Padmé said softly.

He met her eyes and gave a brief nod. "We'll be on our way then," he muttered, taking the folded piece of paper from Padmé and turning to the guards. Neither of the men supported this new arrangement, but they had no choice but to obey. So, gritting their teeth and biting their tongues, they removed the cuffs from around Anakin's wrists. Without having to be told, he went into the room with Padmé. Mon Mothma went out and took her place by Organa's side. A moment later, the door closed.

Anakin heard several automatic locks slide into place. Then he heard their footsteps fading as Organa and the others departed down the hall. They were alone. "Anakin!" Padmé cried out, rushing to his side, ready to throw her arms around him, expecting him to take her into his arms with the same elation.

He didn't. He just continued to stare at the close door, as if entranced by the cold metal. "Anakin…" her nervous voice whispered beside him. "Ani…" He did not respond. He did not acknowledge that he had heard her at all. But she knew he had. As he stared numbly at the wall, she could see tears gathering in his eyes.

"Anakin," she whispered again, but this time her voice was heavy, weighed down by sorrow and pity. She stepped closer to him, and she saw his body tense. She touched his cheek. Anakin filched as if her soft fingers gave him an electrical shock. "Anakin, please…" Padmé begged, taking a final step closer to him, closing the space between them. She stepped in front of him this time, so he would have to look at her.

Anakin turned his head away, and his tears spilt out of his eyes and rolled silently down his cheeks. He did not try to suppress them. What was the point? Crying is weakness. Anakin knew that. That was what Obi-Wan always used to tell him when he was a padawan. Don't cry. It will not make anything better. It will only show your enemies your weaknesses. Anakin had never seen Obi-Wan cry (he doubted any had seen Obi-Wan cry), because Obi-Wan was strong. But Anakin knew now that he was not strong. He was so foolish, so weak. Weak enough to join the Dark Side. Why should he present himself as anything else? He stared across the room, a cold hollowness in his chest, and let his tears fall, unable to hear Padmé's soft words of comfort over the screaming of his own conscious.

Padmé's arms were around Anakin's neck now. She ran her hands through his long hair—the same way she had when they were on Mustafar, the dreadful memory surfaced in her mind without her permission—as she tried in vain to coax something out of him: any quiet word, any flash of emotion in those cold, dead eyes, any sign of life, anything to reassure her that it was Anakin who was still alive and Darth Vader who had died.

"Anakin…" he finally heard her desperate whimper. "…Ani, I love you…"

That was enough to shatter whatever was left of his bleeding heart. His face crumpled. A trembling breath fell through his lips and new tears slid from his eyes. He felt the warmth of her silken flesh as she pressed her hand against his cheek, and he knew he did not deserve it. He did not deserve her comfort. He did not deserve her love. He did not deserve her, at all. She deserved so much better. In fact, she would be better off without him.

"Padmé…" Anakin finally muttered through clenched jaws. "…I can't even look at you."

Padmé took his head in her hands and gently turned his head so she had no choice but to look at her. She looked straight into his eyes and said with certainty, "I forgive you."

Anakin closed his eyes and bowed his head. "You shouldn't."

"I do. I forgive you, Anakin. I _love_ you."

Every kind word from Padmé was even more painful than the cruel ones fired at him from the guards, and the court, and Organa, and Yoda, and even Obi-Wan. Because they were giving him what he deserved, and Padmé wasn't. It was agony—how horribly the truth really can hurt—but Anakin mumbled nonetheless, "You shouldn't do that either."

"Anakin!" Padmé exclaimed, fear springing up in her voice. She pulled him closer to her and held his shoulders in a fierce grip. Shaking him slightly, she cried, "Don't say things like that! Of course, I love you! I'll always love you!"

Anakin murmured again, "You shouldn't."

"Stop it!" Padmé commanded. "Ani… _Look_ at me!"

Even as hard as it was, Anakin obeyed. It took everything he had to look her in the eye, but he knew that was what she wanted, so he did it for her. "I forgive you, Anakin," Padmé said firmly, "and the Jedi are giving you a second chance. You _cannot_ give up. You have to move on. You have to be strong and keep going. Anakin, you have to forgive yourself."

That was impossible. Anakin knew, even if he turned everything around and became the best man in the galaxy, he would never be able to forgive himself. He could not even try. However, for Padmé, he could try to move on. He could try to be strong and keep going. For Padmé. For his children. For Obi-Wan.

Besides, Padmé forgave him. And that was enough.

He nodded weakly.

Padmé's heart sighed in relief. She pulled Anakin toward her, and their lips met for a long, _desperate_ kiss. So much had been lost—no, not lost; _destroyed_ —but they held on to what they had left: each other. Their love. Their children. "Come on, Ani," Padmé said when their kiss finally ended and they stood holding each other in a gentle embrace. She took one of his hands with both of hers and started pulling him across the room. "Come see our babies."

Even now, a small smile spread across Anakin's mouth as he followed her across the apartment. It was small quarters where the Skywalkers would be staying until the Rebels—at this point, there was no sense to call the group anything else; the Jedi were nothing, the Senate was nothing, and the court of Alderaan was not enough; this was not a council anymore; there was no sense in pretending otherwise: this was a rebellion—gave them further instructions. It had been agreed that Anakin should be given a bit more time to heal physically before they sent him back to Palpatine. So, until he was well enough, he would stay here with Padmé and their babies.

There were only three rooms, a central room, which contained a couch and the only door to the outside world. The door locked automatically and could only be unlocked by a code Anakin did not know. Beyond that, there was a small bedroom with a bed (and a baby crib Padmé brought), and a bathroom with a toilet and shower. There were no windows or means of getting out, except through the front door. Anakin was not allowed to leave, no exceptions. Padmé was only allowed to unlock the door if one of the court members who had been at Anakin's trial—and who were quickly evolving into the leaders of the rebellion—told her too. Furthermore, although it seemed Padmé and Anakin were alone, every room was being monitored by security holograms. Everything they did, they saw. Everything they said, they heard. For the time being, Anakin was not going to be imprisoned. But he was still a prisoner.

Padmé led Anakin into the bedroom, and his eyes immediately landed on the crib beside the bed. Although he could not see them, he knew both infants were snuggled together in this cradle, their arms around each other, their tiny foreheads against each other, enveloped in a soft blanket and their twin's warmth, fast asleep. "They won't know who I am," Anakin said quietly as Padmé lead him toward his children. He did not say it aloud, but thought with, surprisingly, not jealousy but guilt in his heavy heart, _They probably think Obi-Wan is their father._

Aside from C-3PO (Anakin was fairly certain the children didn't think the droid was their father), Obi-Wan was the only one who had given Padmé any help with her newborns since their birth last week. Very few people knew about the children, and those who did wanted nothing to do with the offspring of Darth Vader.

"Don't be silly," said Padmé. "They'll know who you are." However, her voice betrayed her doubts. She realized Anakin was probably right. These children had only seen their father once, and for only a couple of minutes directly after their birth. How could they possibly know him now? She knew they wouldn't.

They did.

Padmé and Anakin were both shocked as they peered into the cradle and watched the babies, in the depths of their innocent sleep, begin to stir and fidget as if someone was purposely shouting their names or shaking their crib to wake them. Luke opened his eyes first, and only seconds later Leia opened hers. As much as they loved their mother, as strong as the connection they shared with her had grown already, and as hungry as they were for the next meal, they hardly glanced at her. Luke's clear blue eyes and Leia's deep brown stared with wonder and elation at their father, from whom they had been parted for far too long.

Even as young as they were—hardly even a week old!—Anakin watch happiness light up their precious faces, and the beginnings of smiles tugged at their mouths. The infants squirmed around in their crib, kicking their legs and flailing their arms, squealing in delight, as if ordering their father to take them into his arms and hold them. They knew him. Anakin could have cried with joy. His children knew he was their father. And not only did they know him: they loved him.

Padmé laughed as pure joy bubble up inside of her and overflowed. She wiped her eyes, which were wet with happy tears, and told Anakin softly, "Obi-Wan says they're strong with the Force."

"He's right," Anakin answered as he watched his children in awe, unable to take his eyes off of them for even a second. They were _very_ strong with the Force. Anakin could feel it in them, coursing through their little bodies like blood in their veins or air in their lungs, guiding them and protecting them even though they were too young to know it. It was the Force that made them so strong and so smart even though they were still so fragile and ignorant. That is how they already loved their mother more than themselves, how they already knew their father though he hardly knew them, how they were able to sense his presence and wake up even when they were asleep. Then Anakin realized: he had not lost everything. He did still have something to live for, something to fight for, something to protect, cherish, and love, and this was it. His family. His wife and his children.

They were his life now. Everything that had happened no longer mattered. The past cannot be undone, and dwelling on it would not change it. However, he could change the future. Padmé was right. This was his second chance. He still had a family—a family he loved more than anything in the entire universe, the family he was trying to protest all along—and this time he would not fail them. He _would not_ fail them. He knew, this time, he would be stronger. Better. He failed the Jedi, he failed Republic, he failed the galaxy, and he failed his brother Obi-Wan. But he would not fail these two beautiful, precious, miraculous gifts from Heaven, his beloved children.

So Anakin smiled as he reached into the crib to pick up his babies for the first time.

* * *

He stood before the vast glass windows in the Jedi Temple. Both speech and movement had failed him. He could do nothing but stand there, paralyzed in shock. Overwhelmed in awe. Stricken in terror.

The Republic was falling. Coruscant, itself, was falling. It was impossible, but it was happening. As he stood there, staring, as if held in a hypnotic trance, through the glass, he watched red flares of light erupt throughout the city, and he knew they were explosions. He watched clouds of thick, black smoke rise into the air, and he knew it was from the fire. He could hear muffled sounds from the other side of that window, distant yells echoing through the city, and he knew it was the screams of people who were in danger, or hurt, or dying… He had never seen anyone die before…

As he stood there, watching the city he thought was indestructible crumple like a paper house blow over by the wind, one question kept replaying itself in his head: _Where is Kenobi and Skywalker?_

He did not know the answer.

Kenobi and Skywalker: two heroes of war who had also become the heroes of every child; two Jedi who had become the center of admiration, trust, and love throughout the galaxy; two men every one had mistaken for an unstoppable force, an unbeatable protection, an unbreakable team. Whenever something bad happened, children would clutch the hands of their mothers and father and tell them with a child's beautiful innocence, that precious ignorance, "It will be okay. Kenobi and Skywalker will get there. Kenobi and Skywalker will save everyone." The children had no doubts. The galaxy would never fall to the Dark Side, because Kenobi and Skywalker would always be there to save it.

But now, the galaxy was falling apart before their very eyes, and Kenobi and Skywalker were nowhere to be found.

 _Where are they?_ he thought, utterly at loss, confused and scared, as he watched another flare spring up in the distant city, burning red against the black night.

"Don't worry," one of the Younglings beside him whispered, still holding onto that diminishing faith they all held just hours before. "Master Kenobi and Skywalker will be here any minute. I'm sure of it."

Once, not so long ago, they all would have been sure of it. But now, in the face of such danger, such destruction like they had never seen, they could not be sure of anything. All they could do was hope and pray their young friend was not wrong. All they could do was hope and pray Kenobi and Skywalker would indeed be there soon.

Then, as if the Force, itself, summoned him there, as if he heard the Younglings calling him even from miles away, the doors behind them slid open, and when they turned to see who it was, they found themselves gazing at none other than Anakin Skywalker.

His black cloak billowed around his hidden body, and his hood was drawn up over his head, casting shadows over his face, giving him an almost sinister appearance. In the darkness of the Temple, the cloaked figure looked like a phantom or a devil. Yet, the Younglings were not afraid of him in the least. They knew this was not a devil but an angel. This was Anakin Skywalker, their hero and their savior, and he had come for them at last. The terror in the children's hearts melted into relief and then to joy, as they sprang from their hiding places and hurried across the chamber to meet the great Jedi.

"Master Skywalker!" he cried as he hurried forward to meet Anakin. He was a little surprised Master Kenobi was not with him, but right now it did not matter. Master Skywalker was enough. "There are too many of them! What are we going to do!?" Even as he said this, even as he was scared, he knew it would all be alright, because Anakin Skywalker was here. He knew Anakin would find a way to fix all of this, to save them, to save the entire galaxy, just as he always did. So, really, there was no reason to be afraid.

The man in the shadowy hood did not answer. He only stared at the children before him, his face and eyes cold. His expression offered no comfort. No reassurance. Nothing. It was like stone. Then, the boy noticed something in Anakin's eyes. It was something he had never seen in a Jedi before, especially not Master Skywalker. Was it… _sadness?_ Fear!? No, Anakin Skywalker was not afraid of anything. The child was not sure what it was, but he could see Anakin was upset. Very upset. Why was he upset? Was he upset because the city was being attacked? Because he did not think he could save it!? No! For a moment, the child was going to say, _Don't worry, Master Skywalker! It will be okay. You and Master Kenobi can handle this. You can fix it. Everything will be alright._

Then the low, ominous hum pierced the silence in the Jedi Temple. A beast growls before it kills its prey: so does a lightsaber. A blade of blue flame sprang up in Master Skywalker's hand.

The child stepped backward, but more so out of surprise than fear. At first, he was confused. Why was Master Skywalker taking out his lightsaber? Then, he thought about following Anakin's example and taking out his own lightsaber. Maybe Anakin needed help fighting, and he had come to get them. Maybe all of the Younglings would march into their first real battle with Master Skywalker by their side. Then, he looked away from the lightsaber and up into Anakin's eyes, and he realized he was wrong.

It was not sadness in Skywalker's eyes. It was not fear. Perhaps, sadness and fear were there as well, but that was not what made this child, for the first time in his life, afraid of a Jedi. It was something far more terrible, something that could not be seen in the eyes of a Jedi, at all. What he saw was something that could only be found in the soul of a Sith.

Darth Vader did not waste another moment. Best get this over with. Ignoring his sadness, his fear, his regret, his remorse, his confusion, his guilt, his conscious, the part of his heart that was still flesh and not stone, ignoring everything that was screaming at him to drop his lightsaber, he clenched his jaws and delivered the first strike.

One strike. That was all it took. One swing, and it was done. The child fell to the ground.

 _NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_ Anakin Skywalker wailed, frantic, desperate, terrified, out of his mind as he watched in horror. _Stop! Stop! STOP IT! What are you DOING!? Don't touch them! DON'T TOUCH THEM! You MONSTER! MURDERER! Leave them alone! Get away from them! I'LL_ _KILL YOU!_

Anakin was screaming at the top of his lung, but it did not seem Darth Vader could hear him. If he heard him, Darth Vader ignored him. Without flinching, without hesitating, without sparing a moment to consider mercy, he attacked the Younglings, barbarically slaughtering children like animals. But it was Vader who was the animal.

Anakin was withering around inside himself like a worm, pathetic and useless as it squirms about on the sidewalk, suffering and dying as it languishes in the heat of a merciless sun. There was nothing he could do. He was completely helpless. He was screaming, but nobody could hear him. He was watching, but he could not stop it.

 _I'LL KILL YOU!_ Anakin screamed at Vader another time, but Vader paid him no heed. Some of the Younglings had drawn their lightsabers and were fighting back now. At least, they were trying. But what was a child, or even a group of children, against a Sith Lord? Nothing. Vader cut through them without effort.

Threats were not enough, Anakin knew. Nothing he could say or scream would stop Vader. If he was going to stop this man—this monster—he would have to do more than just swear to kill him. He would have to keep his vowel. He would have to kill Darth Vader. And he would.

Anakin reached for his lightsaber.

He couldn't get it.

 _What the—_

He made another attempt to draw his weapon, but somehow he could not quite reach it. So, instead, he reached into the Force and commanded the currents of this power to bring his lightsaber to his hand and… and, still, he could not get it.

He could not get to his weapon.

That could not stop him. The Force was a weapon, and a dangerously strong one.

Anakin reached into the Force. He tried to stop Vader, to blast him off his feet, disarm him, disable him, hurt him, _choke_ him— _Anything!_

The Force could not touch him. _Not even the Force_ could hinder this powerful Sith Lord. The cloaked devil continued as if the Force did not exist at all. He kept wielding his weapon. He kept fighting. He kept killing.

Anakin would not give up. He would not just _stand here_ and _watch_ this beast murder innocent children. He was a Jedi, and his own life meant nothing. It was for the lives of others that he was alive. It was for the innocent that he lived; and for the innocent that he would die. So, with nothing but his bare hands to defend himself or to attack Vader, he threw himself out in front of the Sith's burning blade, ready strangle Vader with his naked hands, ready to die for the Younglings he was murdering…

Vader did not kill Anakin.

Anakin did not die in the place of these children.

Anakin did not die at all… at least, not at this moment.

Anakin Skywalker was already dead.

His heart stopped dead inside it's imprisonment of bone; his innards became dirt; his blood became ice; goosebumps broke out all over his corpse of a body; and a chill colder than death, itself, pierced his very soul, as he realized… He was Anakin Skywalker, and he was already dead. He could not hear his own voice screaming, because he was not speaking. He could not reach his lightsaber, because his lightsaber was already in his hand. He could not stand in front of that lethal blade, because he was the one swinging it. He could not save these children, because he was the one killing them. He could not kill Darth Vader, because Darth Vader had already killed him. He was not Anakin Skywalker at all.

He was Darth Vader.

He was a Sith Lord.

He blinked numbly at the silent chamber around him and beheld scarlet pools and still bodies.

He had just murdered the Jedi children. Every single one.

* * *

"NO!"

Anakin screamed again, and, this time, his own voice managed to burst through the mute and petrified lips of Darth Vader.

"No!" Anakin shouted—his voice an agonized muddle of despair, panic, and horror.

He looked around frantically. All he could see was darkness: utter blackness. A void like a hole in the universe. His heart thrashed about like a wild beast inside of him, slamming painfully against his ribcage, trying to shatter and break through it's boney imprisonment. His lungs were hysterical; heaving, gasping, wheezing, coughing, choking, closing up and suffocating him. He was soaking wet. What was it all over him? _Blood!?_ The blood of the children he just _murdered!?_ No, it wasn't blood... As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness, he realized it wasn't blood. It was only sweat. It soaked his hair and ran down his body in streams. It drenched him. Blinking away the darkness that smothered his eyes, he stared down and was able to make out the image of his own trembling form. His entire body—unclothed from the waist up, garbed in black trousers and heavy bandages from the waist down—was shaking out of control. No matter how he tried, he could not make the shaking stop. As if he had lost complete control of himself—and, of course, he had; he had lost his mind; he had lost his _soul_ ; he had _murdered children_ —he watched his fake limbs convulse like leaves torn from their branches by a hurricane. He looked up and looked around, expecting to see the Jedi Temple, the smoking city, the pools of blood, the dead children… He saw a dark room he did not recognize, the silhouette of a bed he seemed to be sitting upright on, a crib beside the bed, a woman in the bed beside him…

"Anakin?"

A soft hand touched his arm, and he jumped as if the devil, himself, had seized him.

She withdrew slightly when he flinched; but, only a second later, her hand returned to him, gently rubbing his sweat-dampened shoulder in attempt to calm him. "Ani, what's wrong?" Padmé's tender voice whispered from within the shadow before him. She sat up and moved closer to him, bringing up a hand to comb her fingers through his long hair. It was drenched. "Anakin, what happened?" she asked, even more concerned and frightened this time. "What's wrong? You're— You're shaking…"

He stared at her with wide, frightened eyes, as his vision gradually adjusted to the darkness, and he could recognize his wife's face. His eyes darted away from her, and he looked around the room once more, as if he did not know what was happening, or where he was, or _who_ he was… "Anakin, what's wrong?" he heard Padmé demand another time. He turned his head and found himself staring straight back into her frightened eyes.

 _IT WAS ME!?_ the voice in his soul was wailing, he wanted to wail aloud as well. _I KILLED THEM! YOUNGLINGS! CHILDREN! I murdered them! Oh, Padmé… I'm a murderer, Padmé! I'm a monster! I murdered them! It was me!_

Instead of screaming this terrible truth, he closed his eyes. Panting, trembling, trying and failing to get control of himself, his rapid breathing and reckless heartbeat, he muttered weakly, shakily, "It was only a dream…"

Padmé did not say anything. She was silent for so long that he was unable to bear it anymore, and Anakin looked up. Even through the darkness, he could see the fear in her eyes. She was staring at him as if she expected him to tell her it was another Force vision. That he had foreseen another terrible death or the doom of all mankind, that someone they loved was going to die, that their children were going to die, that there was only one way to save them and it was the Dark Side… She was wrong. This time, the demons that haunted Anakin's sleep were not images of the future but of the past. And these demons were even more terrible. When he dreamed of the future, he could cling to the hope that he would find a way to prevent it, change it. But, now, he was forced to relive the darkest moments of his past, and there is _nothing_ anyone can do to change the past.

Anakin rubbed his eyes with his durasteel hands, as if in the vain hope he could wipe away the images scarred permanently before his eyes, open or closed, awake or asleep: the cold faces of Jedi Younglings as they lay lifelessly in a pool of innocent blood. He shook his head, trying to shake the horrors from his mind. "It's…" he whispered faintly. His voice trembled. "It's nothing, Padmé… It was only a dream. I'm…" He opened his eyes and met her gaze. It took all of his strength and courage to force down his terror and go on evenly, "I'm sorry I woke you. Everything is fine. Go back to sleep."

"Oh, Anakin…" Padmé sighed, sympathy overtaking her concern. She understood. She scooted closer to him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and laying one hand on his bicep (there was no sense to hold his hand, which was her first reflex, because she knew he would not be able to feel it). "Everything will be alright, Ani," she cooed softly, pulling him close to her and affectionately stroking his clammy skin.

"I know." He forced a fake smile to form on his lips and touched her cheek with one hand—as if a touch of cold metal could bring anybody comfort. "Everything _is_ alright," he said gently, doing everything in his power to make her believe he was telling the truth. "Don't worry about me. Now, get some sleep."

Padmé sighed as she looked into his eyes, sadness and compassion all over her face. Yet, she was so exhausted, having hardly slept at all in the last few weeks, and when he looked at her with that smile on his lips and that love in his eyes, she believed him. She nodded and reluctantly agreed.

She lay down, gently pulling Anakin down beside her. Snuggled against him, she closed her eyes and, within minutes, was drifting off again. Anakin was wide awake. Restless. His heart had not slowed, and the shaking had not stopped. His eyes open or his eyes closed, it did not matter, his nightmare kept replaying itself in his head. Awake or asleep, he could not escape the demon called Darth Vader. There was no escape. The demon was _inside_ _of him._

He waited for a few minutes to pass, until he knew Padmé was asleep. Then he untangled himself from her arms and got out of bed. Stumbling blindly through the darkness, he rushed out of the room—desperate to get out of there as fast as he could, as if running from his nightmare—and found himself pacing aimlessly throughout the apartment, staggering like a drunkard, bumping into objects, tripping over his own unsteady feet. The room was dark, but that was not why he could not see anything around him, or why he kept hitting his legs into the couch and scrapping his shoulders on the walls. His body was present in this room, but his mind was elsewhere: still in the world of his nightmare, the world of the past. Anakin could see nothing but the faces of those he had murdered.

 _I killed them…_ he thought numbly, like a man in shock. _I murdered them. Children! They were so young, so innocent._ He thought of his own children, Luke and Leia, and his heart throbbed only to _think_ of how devastated he would be if anything ever happened to them. His insides thrashed and withered like a pit of snakes devouring their prey, making him feel like he would vomit. For the first time, he thought not only of the murdered Younglings, but of their _parents._ _We took them from their homes!_ he realized in agony. _From their_ parents! _We promised them their children would be_ safe. _And I killed them. I killed them…_

Such thoughts whirled around like a maelstrom inside his skull. His head was spinning; the ground beneath his feet was moving like waves in the ocean; his chest was tightening; it was hard to breathe; he was going to pass out; his stomach turned over; he was going to be sick!

Next thing he knew, he was running. Urgent. Panicked. He managed to get to the bathroom in time to double over the toilet and throw up. He stayed on his knees, gripping the ceramic rim of toilet in his metal hands. His arms were shaking. His whole body was shaking, actually. He stayed there, staring into the dark room, breathing heavily and slowly, trying to get control of himself. But nothing could control the merciless voice in his head reminding him that he was a murderer.

Giving up the attempt to calm down, the pitiful endeavor to pretend everything would really be okay, he got abruptly to his feet and blundered back into the main room. He collapsed on the couch, buried his face in his hands, and broke down weeping. Sobbing. His body convulsed violently, painfully, as sobs tore through his chest and tears streamed from his eyes. He did not try to hold it back. He did not try to keep all of his emotions—agony and sorrow and regret and terror and _pain,_ pain worse than the pain he felt as he burned alive on Mustafar—locked up and inside of him, the way the Jedi taught him. For once, he felt it was right to let it all out. He _had_ to let it out. Everything had built up behind a wall of stone, and, at last, that wall cracked. Like a flood of water behind a fractured dam, everything came rushing forth.

He did not know how long he had been weeping when, as if answering his cries, the sob of an infant came from within the darkness beyond the half-open door of the bedroom. At the sound of his child's cry, Anakin immediately forced himself to forget his own pain. Choking down his feelings, sniffing once, brushing tears out of his eyes and off of his cheeks, he stood and went to the side of his children's crib. It was Luke. Quickly, hoping the boy's cries would not wake his mother or his sister, the father took his son into his arms.

"Shhh..." Anakin gently hushed the child. He held him snuggly against his shoulder, gently patting his back, as he went out of the bed room and closed the door softly behind him. "It's alright," he whispered to his son. "It'll be alright, Luke. Daddy's here." Anakin sat down on the couch, Luke clutch tightly in his arms. Already the child was startling to settle down. Anakin took Luke off of his shoulder and cradled him in his arms, so he could look down and see his precious little face. "Did you have a bad dream?" Anakin said softly, as he gazed lovingly into those wide blue eyes. A small smile, which failed to mask the grimness within it, appeared on the father's lips. "So did I."

Luke had stopped crying now. He looked up at his father, almost as if he could understand him, even though Anakin knew he couldn't. He was far too young, far too _innocent_ , to understand. In fact, there were some things—many things—Anakin hoped the boy would _never_ have to understand. Like pain. Death. Betrayal. Murder. And the terrible guilt that came with them all.

Luke blinked at him for several minutes, just staring up at his father, as if entranced by the man's face. Then, at last, those precious eyes closed. Anakin thought he would end up having to wake Padmé to feed the baby, but—to his surprise—snuggled up against his daddy's chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart, Luke was already falling asleep.

Anakin bent over and kissed his son's forehead. "It'll be alright," he whispered one more time, and he was not sure if he was saying this to Luke or to himself. But it would be alright. It would have to be. Because he still had his children, and his wife, his family: although it was impossible, _somehow,_ it would be alright.

* * *

When Padmé awoke the next morning (it was technically morning, even though the sun had not yet risen, and it was pitch-black in her bedroom, and it seemed a dead hour in the middle of the night, and Leia was screaming for her mother's milk) she Anakin was not in bed beside her. When she reached into the crib to get Leia, she found that Luke was gone too. After she got her daughter to stop crying— _feeding her_ was the only way Padmé discovered she could do that—she went out into the main room, burping Leia on her shoulder, and found her husband and her son on the couch. Anakin was lying on his back, his head on the armrest, and his arm around his son. Luke was curled up on his chest. Both of them were fast asleep.

Padmé smiled, and her heart smiled as well. _If only it could stay like this,_ she thought. _If only time could stop, and we could be like this forever. Just the four of us. Together. Happy._

But it was impossible. And that became clear three days later when a knock came on the code-locked door.

It was about midday. Padmé and Anakin were sitting on the couch together, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Padmé—poor Padmé, thought Anakin; she had so much stress and responsibility weighing down on her, and yet she refused to break; he tried to do everything he could to help her, to make things easier for her, but in his condition, there was not much he could do—had finished helping Anakin apply medicine to his wounds (which was extremely painful for both of them), she had given him an assortment of pills to swallow, and she had injected a strong drug, which was apparently suppose to kill the infection oozing in his burnt flesh, into his shoulder with a syringe. She had finished feeding Luke, who Anakin was holding in his arms now, and was about to feed Leia. Then someone knocked on the door.

Every muscle in Anakin's body tensed. His heart stopped. Numbly, mechanically, as if his robotic legs had taken the initiative to stand without the consent of his mind, he started to get up.

"That's okay; Ani, I'll get it," Padmé stopped him. Leia still in her arms, she rose swiftly to her feet and approached the door before he could protest. She didn't want Anakin to answer the door, because she knew whoever was coming was coming for him. Even though she was hopeless to stop that, in her heart, she was prepared to fight them with her bare hands to keep them from getting to him.

Anakin stared at her as she approached the door, anxiety raging like a stormy sea in his chest. His heart was racing. He expected the worst—even though he was not quite sure what the worst was… Perhaps, a member of the court come to tell him that he had to leave Padmé and the children. Perhaps, a stone-faced guard come to tell him that they had changed their minds and he was going to be executed. Perhaps, Darth Sidious, himself, come to collect his new apprentice. Even though he knew that was not so, that was what Anakin prepared himself for. He prepared himself for the worst. And what could be worse than the Dark Lord, himself?

It was worse.

Padmé looked through the small peek-hole on the door and gasped. "Anakin!" she exclaimed, shocked. "Anakin, it's _Obi-Wan!_ "


	9. Chapter 9

**Sworn to Darkness**

CHAPTER IX

Obi-Wan knew the security code, but rather than just barge in on them, he knocked on the door and waited for Padmé to open it. He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. He was not looking forward to this. He was about as eager to speak to Anakin as, he was sure, Anakin was to speak to him.

"Obi-Wan!" Padmé cried as she door disappeared between them. A wide smile spread across her face, and she lit up as if in the presence of a hero. Which, of course, he was. But Obi-Wan did not think of it that way.

He forced a faint smile—a smile which, despite his years of training as a Jedi, was clearly _forced_ —and nodded respectfully in return. "Padmé." The beginnings of a real smile started to tug at his mouth as his eyes fell upon the little girl in her arms, who already knew and loved the Jedi and who was clearly delighted to see him again now. In a much softer tone, he added, "Hello, Leia."

"Come in! Please!" Padmé ushered in him eagerly. He stepped inside, and the doors closed behind him, locking automatically. Anxious to wait on his every need, to do anything and everything she could for him, as if he were a king to be honored or a god to be worshiped, knowing that she owned literally _everything she had_ to this man, Padmé asked, "Is there anything I can get for you? Maybe a drink? Or—"

"No, I'm fine, thank you," Obi-Wan answered politely, but he was unable to hide the stiffness in his manner. All of them could feel thick unease building up in the room: an uncomfortable unspoken-ness that often forms when people try to _act_ like everything is okay. "But if you don't mind," he went on evenly, "I would like to speak with Anakin for a moment."

"Of course!" Padmé obliged at once. But when her eyes flickered away from Obi-Wan and, for a fraction of a second, met Anakin's, it was clear she was far less eager to leave them alone than she made herself out to be. "Let me know if I can get you anything," she said one more time to Obi-Wan, who nodded vaguely in reply (his mind was quite obviously consumed with matters far more important than refreshments), and she retreated into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Obi-Wan remained tensely where he stood for a moment, dreading this as much as he was sure Anakin was.

Anakin stared at the child in his arms, but he did not see Luke's sweet face. All he saw was a fiery mountain of mistakes, his own mistakes, replying before his eyes. Disasters. His heart was pounding, and dread twisting around in his gut. Guilt crushed him. _Why Obi-Wan?_ he thought in panic. _Why couldn't anyone have come but Obi-Wan!?_ At least, if Palpatine appeared at their doorstep, Anakin could kill him. But Obi-Wan! Anakin could do nothing but endure his overwhelming guilt and face him…. But he could not face him. He could not even glance in his direction.

Obi-Wan sighed faintly, trying to expel a bit of his own disquiet with his breath. He walked slowly across the room and sat down on the couch beside Anakin… Not exactly beside Anakin. There was an unusually large space between them, and tension as strong as a stone wall filled this gap.

Anakin did not glance at Obi-Wan. He stared at the baby, who was happy to see Obi-Wan but seemed to sense his father's unease, he was holding in his arms. His head was bowed a bit lower now.

 _I'm sorry,_ he thought again and again. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!_ He wanted to say it, to scream it. He wanted to fall to his knees and apologize for everything he had ever done. _Obi-Wan, I'm sorry!_ the voice of his soul wailed, as his heart burned and bled. _I'm so sorry… I know I deserve to die, I know I deserve hell, I know I do not deserve any of this, but I— Can… can you ever forgive me?_

As much as he wanted, yearned, _ached_ to say these things, Anakin could not do it. He could not tell Obi-Wan he was sorry. He could not ask him for forgiveness. He just couldn't. After everything Obi-Wan had done to save Anakin and everything Anakin had done to hurt Obi-Wan, he would never, _never_ be able to ask him for forgiveness. It was too much to ask. Too much to hope for. And Obi-Wan had already given Anakin _so much more_ than he ever deserved.

So he waited in dreadful discomfort—far worse than the discomfort caused by the burns all over his body, or caused by his severed limbs, or caused by the damage in his lungs—for Obi-Wan to say something.

"How are you?" Obi-Wan said at length. Stiffly. Flatly. Like one asking, _How are you?_ only because it was proper courtesy, not because he really cared.

Anakin clenched his teeth. He knew what he should do—what he _wanted_ to do, even. He knew he should fall on the ground before Obi-Wan—the same way he had before Darth Sidious not so long ago—and beg him for mercy. Shaking and weeping, he should make himself a servant and Obi-Wan his king, and find a way to atone for his sins. He should thank him, praise him, venerate him, shower his feet in kisses…

But he couldn't. Anakin couldn't do any of that. He was not brave enough. He was not strong enough.

He tried his best to thank him…

Looking down at Luke (who seemed very confused; he loved both of them, but through the Force, he could sense that it was not love they felt for each other, and he did not understand) he forced himself to answer.

"I'm alive, because of you," muttered Anakin. "My family is alive, because of you. I can't… I can't begin to thank you… and I'll never be able to repay you for what you've have done for us. I owe you my life… everything."

When he had finished, Anakin—feeling obliged—forced himself to glance at Obi-Wan and acknowledge his reply… even if Kenobi was going to reject him, and curse him, and hate him forever. If that was what Obi-Wan chose, Anakin would accept it.

Obi-Wan did not answer at first. He met Anakin's gaze, his own eyes stony, much like his face. Hos expression was colder than Anakin had ever seen it before, harder to read, empty of feeling. For certain, Anakin did not see forgiveness in his eyes. Obi-Wan was not sure he would ever forgive Anakin. He looked away and gave a brief nod.

And that was the closest these two men, who were once brothers, could come to making amends.

"The council has been talking," Obi-Wan started in a professional, emotionless tone. Now, he was not looking at Anakin either. "Tomorrow morning, they want you to return to Coruscant and forge service to the _Emperor_." Obi-Wan said that word with such disgust, such utter revulsion, as if just speaking it left a vile taste in his mouth.

Even as hard as it was to look at Obi-Wan, even as overwhelmingly powerful as his guilt remained, Anakin's love for his family was stronger, and he turned his head to look at his former Master. "Tomorrow?" he repeated. His stomach turned over.

Obi-Wan looked at Anakin—it was difficult for him as well—and nodded. "They believe you are ready."

Although Obi-Wan was, no doubt, a part of this council, Anakin noticed the Jedi said _they_ rather than _we,_ which told him Obi-Wan did not agree with the decision. He did not think Anakin was ready. He did not think Anakin was strong enough. Physically or spiritually. Perhaps, he did not think Anakin was strong enough even to resist the temptation of the Dark Side, which was certain to present itself again—constantly—once he returned to Palpatine.

Anakin wished the court would listen a little more to Obi-Wan.

 _But what about my children!? What about Padmé!?_ Anakin wanted to cry out in protest. Instead, he looked down and answered quietly, "I will do whatever you ask of me." He purposely said _you_ rather than the _the council._ It was to Obi-Wan he owed his life. It was to Obi-Wan he would be loyal. …It was only after he said it that he realized how similar it was to what he said to Palpatine on the night of the betrayal.

If Obi-Wan realized this, he ignored it. In fact, he ignored the remark entirely. Instead, he answered the question on Anakin's heart rather than his lips. (Apparently, although their relationship had been torn apart, there was still some connection between them, and Obi-Wan knew what Anakin was thinking.) "Padmé and the children will go into hiding," he said. "Since the Republic fell, many senators have gone missing, Senator Amidala included. We will declare that she has been found dead. A funeral service will be held on Naboo, and a casket will be buried. That will convince the galaxy she is really dead. It will be your job to convince the Emperor. You must make him believe your wife and unborn child were killed in the attack on Coruscant."

Anakin nodded. He hesitated, unsure if he should speak, unsure if he had the right. Perhaps, it was not his place to ask questions, but he had to know. "Do Padmé's parents know?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "They can't. It's too dangerous. For them, for Padmé, and for your children. When this war is over and Palpatine destroyed, then she will be able to tell them."

Anakin nodded. The thought of Mr. and Mrs. Naberrie and Padmé's sister, Sola, was painful. He thought of what they would do, the pain they would feel when the received the news, the news that their daughter and sister was dead. Such thoughts bothered Anakin. Yet, he could not argue. He could only hope—only pray—this war would be over soon.

"I'll need my lightsaber before I go back," Anakin muttered after a long pause.

"Oh, no," Obi-Wan immediately refused, much the away he used to dismiss Anakin's suggestions when he was a padawan. "The court won't allow that, and you'll hardly need it. I'm sure Emperor Palpatine will want you to construct a new one. Sith don't use blue lightsabers, Anakin."

"Right," Anakin murmured uncomfortably. The guilt he carried seemed to become even heavier at the word _Sith._

"You will be given a communicator device," Kenobi went on formally, "that will allow you to contact our base at any time. Your duty is to spy on Palpatine—"

Now, didn't _that_ sound familiar. They were both _too_ aware that they had been down this road before. And look how it had ended… Perhaps, that was why Obi-Wan did not think Anakin was ready.

Yet, things would be different this time. This was Anakin's second chance, and he _was_ _not_ going to fail again.

"—and his armies, and report all of their dealings to us. Our goal is to win this war as quickly and with as little loss as possible. However, Anakin, it is also _extremely important_ that Palpatine does not begin to doubt your allegiance." His manner then became as solemn and cold as the chill of winter. "Anakin…" Obi-Wan looked his once-brother directly in the eye. Even as painful as it was, Anakin had no choice but to stare straight back at him, trapped under his gaze. "Of course, we want to save as many as we can," he began slowly—Anakin was always one who tried to save _everybody,_ "…but if Palpatine finds out you're with the Rebellion, this entire uprising could fail, and the whole galaxy will suffer for it."

And there it was again. That same logic of the Jedi—what some called wisdom, some called sacrifice, what some called selflessness, and still there were others that would say such thinking was plain _heartlessness_ —that Anakin could never convince himself to agree with. The idea that one should think only of the greater good, and not of the individual.

If you had the choice to save a hundred people that you do not know, or one friend who you love above all else—a brother, or a sister, your mother or father, or a friend as good as family—which would you choose? If you were a Jedi, you would have no choice but to answer: "A hundred people, of course." In the mind of a Jedi, all life is equal, thus if one life could be scarified to save even two other lives, it should be done. However, if you were Anakin Skywalker, you might say, "A hundred people, of course,"butwhen the time came, you would not live up to that promise. You would not forsake your friend. Because your loyalty was never to the good of the galaxy. It was never to the Republic. It was never to the Jedi Order. Your loyalty has always been to your family. To those you love. You are not like the Jedi who use their minds in their judgments. Instead, you use your heart.

That is why Anakin Skywalker was never enough for the Jedi. That same cold principle that made him doubt the Council, turn his back on the Order, and turn to the Dark Side.

When Obi-Wan said this now, Anakin felt a shiver go through his body and enter his heart. It chilled him to the bone.

"Do you understand, Anakin?" Obi-Wan finished, that penetrating gaze and those ice-blue eyes holding Anakin hostage.

Anakin forced his stiff lips to move. "I understand," he managed to mutter.

Obi-Wan nodded and looked away.

Anakin looked away too.

They sat in silence for a moment, both consume by their own troubled thoughts, both troubled by their own aching heart. Both of them found themselves gazing on the child, who lay—so innocent, so oblivious of all of this, all of this pain and turmoil, the darkness knocking down entire worlds around him—soundly in his father's arms.

Obi-Wan's jaws clenched together, and the muscles could be seen tensing in his checks. He knew what Anakin was thinking now. He was thinking about his family, his children. He was thinking about how he would have to leave them. He wondered when he would see them again, how old the children would be when he got to hold them again, how Padmé might look when he saw her, how much time would go by, how time could change so much… He longed to be with them. Because Anakin's family was the only thing he was living for, he _needed_ to protect them. He prayed, wherever they would be and wherever he would be, his family would be safe.

Obi-Wan inhaled carefully and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He spoke softly, "Anakin…" This was the first time since Mustafar that Obi-Wan spoke to Anakin in this voice. A voice that was almost the voice of the brother who loved him. Almost.

Anakin turned his head and forced himself to look at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan could see the sorrow in his face, the _pain_ in his eyes. He looked like he might cry, right now, right here in front of him. Anakin was never very good at hiding his feelings. A Jedi would have scorned him for that, but, right now, Obi-Wan could only feel sorry for him. Even now after everything—even as it was on Mustafar—Obi-Wan hated to see Anakin in pain.

For the first time since Mustafar, Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, and it was not just a mask of stone he saw instead of the Jedi's face. He could see pity, sadness, compassion in Obi-Wan's eyes.

"I will watch after your family, Anakin," Obi-Wan promised. "I will protect them. I won't let anything happen to them. I promise you."

Anakin was shocked. He knew Obi-Wan was a good man, a _great_ man, the best man he ever knew… But he did not know _why. Why_ was Obi-Wan doing this for him!? Why was Obi-Wan so ready to help him, even to _sacrifice himself_ for him, after what Anakin had done? After he _betrayed_ _Obi-Wan_ and everything Obi-Wan loved?

Anakin's eyes shifted and fell upon the Jedi's hands. The bandages were gone, and Anakin could see the healing wounds, the gruesome scars all over his palms and fingers. Scars Obi-Wan had obtained willingly when he reached into the fire to save a traitor's life.

No. Anakin could not even begin to fathom why…

He stared at Obi-Wan, astonished. At last, he looked away and shook his head. "Why?" he murmured in a whisper, unable to understand. "You don't owe us anything."

Obi-Wan opened his lips to reply, but then he closed them again. He looked away. He did not have an answer.

At least… not an answer he could say aloud. He knew the truth in his heart. This was the truth: even though he could not forgive Anakin, Obi-Wan still loved him.

Jedi were not allowed to love. They were not even aloud to love someone as a brother. Well then… If that was the case, it seemed, Obi-Wan was not the perfect Jedi either.

"I'll protect them," he said again. This time his voice was practically a whisper.

Luke, who was growing very tired after his meal, was beginning to drift off, lulled to sleep by these quiet voices, both which he knew and which brought him comfort. He shifted in Anakin's arms, stretching out his arms, and opening his little mouth wide in a yawn.

Obi-Wan turned his eyes to look at the child, grateful for an excuse to get his mind on something else for at least the moment, and a faint smile started to appear on his lips. "Luke looks like you," he said without looking at Anakin. "He has your eyes."

Anakin nodded mildly, and—for the first time—he smiled, very slightly but nonetheless, as well. While the moment lasted, Anakin and Obi-Wan were both smiling. That, alone, was something Anakin thought would be never happen again. But it happened. And, for a second—only for a second—they could pretend that things were still the same as they used to be. They were still friends. They were still brothers.

…But it was only pretend.

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, a small smile still on his face. He was not eager for this moment to die… although he knew, sooner than later, it would have to. "I'm sure one day he and Leia both will be Jedi as powerful as their father."

Anakin's smile vanished from his face. Any happiness in his eyes was gone. Grave reality returned to stare him in the face, and he knew they were done pretending. He turned his head to look at the man beside him. He was reluctant to speak out; he knew it was not his place, but—for the sake of his children—he said slowly, "Obi-Wan, I don't want them to be Jedi."

Obi-Wan looked up from Luke and met Anakin's eyes. His smile was gone too. His face was solemn and his eyes impossible to read. It was hard to tell what he was feeling. Annoyance? Anger? _Suspicion?_ Suspicion that Anakin did not want them to be Jedi because he'd rather them be Sith? Perhaps, but mostly, it was just surprise. Shock and bewilderment. "You don't want them to be Jedi?" he repeated. "But why? They are so strong with the Force."

"I know," Anakin answered quietly, unable to look at the Jedi. It seemed, no matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did—from the time he was a padawan, to a knight, to a Sith, to a fugitive, to a double-agent for the Rebellion—Anakin always disappointed Obi-Wan. "It's just so dangerous," he said softly, because Obi-Wan deserved an explanation. "I don't want them to be in danger."

That was true. However, that was not the only reason. He did not want his children to be Jedi, because he did not want them to get hurt, but also because he did not want them to be bound by those chains their whole life… the same chains that Anakin was willing to turn to the Dark Side to break free of. He wanted them to be free. He wanted them to be able to make their own choices, live their own lives, have their own family if they wanted a family... He wanted them to have freedom and happiness and love. A Jedi cannot have any of these things. They protect freedom, but they have no freedom themselves. They are happy when others are happy, but the happiness is not their own. They are not allowed to love.

Obi-Wan understood.

He sighed. "Anakin," he began slowly. "There are hardly any Jedi left. Your children might be the difference between success and failure in this war!"

And there it was again. For the greater good. Let me train them for the greater good. Endanger your children for the greater good.

Perhaps, Obi-Wan was willing to make such sacrifices. But Anakin would _never_ put his children in danger for anything. Not for the salvation of the entire galaxy.

"I don't want them to be Jedi," Anakin said again, unswayed. "Obi-Wan…" He turned his head and met his old master's eyes. "Obi-Wan, please. Please, don't train them."

Obi-Wan's eyes flickered away. He exhaled through his nose. "Very well," he murmured reluctantly but nonetheless.

Anakin sighed in relief. "Promise me."

Obi-Wan met his eyes once more. "I give my word."

Anakin's frightened heart relaxed. _Thank you, Master!_ he was about to cry, but he stopped himself. He said instead, "Thank you, Obi-Wan."

The last time he called Obi-Wan "master" was on Mustafar. _This is the end of you, my master,_ he had vowed, and then he had tried to kill his brother. He had failed, of course. However, there was some truth in that sinister pledge. Although it was not the end of Obi-Wan Kenobi, it was the end of Anakin Skywalker's master. It was the end of a bond, a trust, a friendship between men who had been closer than brothers. It was the end of a relationship between master and apprentice. Anakin was no longer Kenobi's apprentice. He was Darth Sidious's apprentice. Anakin did not call Obi-Wan "master" again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you again, everyone, for reading! I really appreciate all of your feedback, follows, favorites, etc. Thank you all so, so much!**

* * *

 **Sworn to Darkness**

CHAPTER X

Coruscant was not what it was. Not even the close. However, neither was it changed. Rather, it was _new._ No longer was this planet the weakly beating pulse of a crumbling society. No longer was it a flickering candlelight about to be snuffed out by a much fiercer wind, swallowed by a much stronger darkness. No longer were its eyes blurred by pride and blinded by shadow. Now, the planet and the shadow were at peace. No longer was Coruscant threatened by the dark, because Coruscant _was_ the dark. It was not dying anymore. It was not weak anymore. It was not governed by a pitiful band of arrogant cowards, who feared what they could not understand, anymore. It was not Coruscant anymore. It was the Imperial Center.

The Emperor of the galaxy stood before a glassless window in a chamber that was once the Chancellor's Office but was now a dictator's throne room. A cool breeze came through the opening in the wall, rushing into the chamber, and the folds of his cloak flapped like a black flag. He looked out on the city— _his_ city. His empire.

The Galactic City was a peace tonight. At last, smoke had stopped rising from the remains of toppled buildings. Blood had stopped running like rivers down the streets. Air traffic was allowed resumed. See? He had brought peace to the galaxy. No matter what his enemies might say.

Yet, peace is not free. Security is never free. The price is paid in blood. Even the Empire could not avoid this cost.

Emperor Palpatine sighed as he looked out at the dark city, whose lights glowed like thousands of lidless eyes watching from within the gloom. Not a moon or star was visible in the black sky. Darkness consumed the planet. Darkness was the very soul of the planet. The soul of the galaxy. It had engulfed the Light, which was no more. Yet, even the Darkness had suffered a painful loss.

He turned his back on the now-glassless window—it was shattered just before he killed Mace Windu—and turned to face his new apprentice. His _three_ new apprentices, actually. This was a new age, after all. A new era of the galaxy. A new era of the Sith. Tonight would mark history. Tonight, the Lord of Darkness would venture into a domain that no Sith dared enter before.

"As I'm sure you are all aware," Palpatine's rasping, crackling voice spoke from under that dark hood, that mask of shadow, "the tradition has long been upheld that there be only two Sith at time: a master and an apprentice. However, the Sith are unlike the Jedi, and we do not fear what we do not know. We do not fear risk. We do not oppose change. The entire galaxy is changing, and the Sith will change with it. We will grow in size and in strength."

Eyes of strange gold, rimmed with red, beheld his new students, who stood before him like soldiers, ready to execute orders. "My last apprentice," Palpatine continued grimly, "was the strongest Sith I have ever encountered. He was the very _incarnate_ of the Force… He would have served the Empire well…

"But even he was defeated. He was sent to Mustafar on a mission, and he never returned. Only his legs and one of his arms were discovered on the slopes of a volcano." He paused for a moment to reminisce this painful loss—this deep wound in the Sith's power. "Although the Jedi are few," he warned the other Sith, " _do not underestimate them_. All of you should take caution, as even the mighty Darth Vader was killed by a Jedi."

Palpatine stared into the darkness around him and thought. The mighty Darth Vader. The strongest Jedi he ever encountered. The most ambitious man he ever knew. The most powerful Sith Lord who ever lived. No more than severed limbs and ash.

"It will take all three of you to match his power," Palpatine said gravely. The tallest of them—a human male, young, about as old as Lord Vader had been, slick blonde hair, eyes pale like ice, a pompous expression on an arrogant face, a scent that reeked of malice, a heart as hard as stone, and a soul that craved power as a beast caves blood: a man called Zelus—stood a bit straighter and held his chin a bit higher when the Emperor said this. Both skepticism and jealousy flashed in his serpentine eyes.

"Several Jedi are still missing," Palpatine went on, his tone changing to become urgent but also eager. Hungry. "Although I expect many of them to turn up dead—or that their corpses have simply become unidentifiable—I am certain at least a few are still alive. Amongst them, I have no doubt, is Obi-Wan Kenobi." A murderous thirst for vengeance—a flame from which a Sith could extract great power—ignited Palpatine's soul and sparked in his eyes. "He is likely the Jedi who killed Lord Vader. Your first mission will be to hunt him down and kill him. Once he is dead, we will likewise find and destroy whatever pitiful cowards that call themselves Jedi remain."

As they bowed their heads to their master and began to murmur their understanding, beyond the walls of this chamber, they could hear a pair of heavy metal doors sliding open. The Sith turned, prepared to face anything that might try to enter. Zelus reached for his weapon—a blaster, as he did not yet know how to construct a lightsaber. "Someone's coming," he said in a voice as cold and barren as the frostbitten winter.

Palpatine shook his head faintly, unconcerned. "It doesn't matter. No one is coming to trouble us. The doors of this chamber cannot be opened except by the Force, and even still it would take a very powerful Sith lord."

As if on cue—what was extremely ironic and slightly humiliating for the Sith Lord—he had barely finished saying this when the metal doors of the chamber—which were apparently sealed with the power of the Dark Side and impossible to breach—slid open, as easily as the doors of an elevator, which open at the touch of a bottom. It was only too obvious: whoever had opened those doors had done it without effort. Now Palpatine was concerned.

However, when he cast his flaming eyes across the chamber to stare at the now-gaping doorway, his concern vanished. At once, it was gone and replaced with shock. Astonishment. Doubt. Disbelief. Delight.

A man clad in black strode boldly through the doors. The hood of his cloak covered his head and cast a shadow over his face. Still, in what little luminance filled this murky chamber, Palpatine could see that unmistakable face. A face as warm as ice and as merciful as stone; an expression that radiated anger and drank up desire for revenge; cold eyes that smoldered like fire. Without hesitating for even a faction of a second, the stranger entered and approached the Emperor. "I apologize for being late, Master," Darth Vader said coolly. "I got held up." He lowered his hood and bowed to the Lord of the Sith.

"Lord Vader!" Palpatine exclaimed in sheer amazement. A toothy smile twisted itself across his hideously deformed face—a face Anakin once recognized. A face Anakin once knew and trusted. The face of a man Anakin once loved.

Darth Vader beheld the Emperor evenly, his face a mask, not a thought or feeling visible in his eyes. _I'm going to kill you,_ Anakin thought calmly. He was calm, because, although he did not know what was going to happen, he knew how it was going to end: He was going to kill Palpatine.

Palpatine had abandoned his new apprentices—it seemed he forgot them entirely—and rushed forward to meet the Chosen One. He reached out his old, shriveled hands and fervently grasped Anakin by the arm. Despite what one might have expected from looking at the old man, the Sith's grip was strong. Like durasteel. "I am more than a little surprised to see you!" he cried, something hideous that Anakin guessed was supposed to be a smile but what looked more like the sneer of a demon stretched across his lips. Palpatine's eyes flicked to observe the black glove he gripped in his hands. He looked back at Anakin and smiled. "Especially in one piece."

"It'll take more than a Jedi to kill me," Vader growled through his teeth.

Palpatine could hear the resentment, the utter _hatred_ , in his young apprentice's voice. Hatred for the Jedi who took his limbs. Palpatine could _feel_ it burning like magma in Vader's soul. Hotter than fire. More dangerous than lava. Just waiting to erupt like the volcanos of Mustafar.

Only, Palpatine was mistake about whom this hatred was for. It was not hatred for Obi-Wan. It was not hatred for the Jedi. It was hatred for the Emperor. Uttermost loathing, sheer _detestation_ for the man who would have had him murder his own brother.

Anakin allowed himself a moment to look Palpatine in the eye, and he savored it. _You like betrayal? You like murder? Good, because I'm going to kill you. You just wait. I_ will _kill you._

"Certainly it will," Palpatine agreed, nodding slowly in approval, looking his apprentice up and down, in awe of what he saw. "And the Sith _will_ have their vengeance on the Jedi."

 _Vengeance?_ Anakin could have laughed if he was not so outraged. _Vengeance for what!? The Sith attacked the Jedi! The Sith are the murderers! The Sith_ _are the ones who should fear vengeance._

"That I can promise you, Lord Vader."

 _No, that I can promise_ you _, Emperor. The_ Jedi _will have their revenge on the Sith._

Vader nodded gravely. A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes, and a chilling smile formed on his mouth. "I look forward to it, Master."

Anakin turned his head and, for the first time, noticed the other three Sith—or, would-be-Sith—amongst them. (Until now, he was too busy envisioning his lightsaber plunging into Palpatine's chest to take note of them.) Aside from Zelus, there was another man called Immitis. He was taller than Anakin, which was saying quite at lot, and more muscular than any human he had seen. In short, the man was a giant. His muscles looked like they could crush steel and his hands like they could crush a man's skull. Yet, Anakin was not intimidated in the least.

The third was a creature Anakin at first mistook to be human, but upon second glance he could see he was wrong. It stood on two legs like a man, but it hunched forward slightly like a beast. It looked like it might drop down on its four limbs, at any moment, and crawl. Its hands were like claws, as so were its bare feet. It was very thin, a skeleton with a thin layer of leathery skin over its bones. Its face was almost human, but it was something like a bat's, and its eyes… at least in this dim lighting, completely black. Anakin had no name for the being he saw before him. It must have been an alien of some sort, but, when Anakin looked at it, the only word he could think of was _demon._ This creature was called Petiuit.

Anakin frowned, as grimness gathered in his chest like storm clouds in the sky. It seemed Obi-Wan was right. Palpatine had found a new apprentice already. But not just one. He had found _three._ As if he planned to breed a Sith _army_.

"What's this?" the apprentice asked his master, as he looked darkly on the other three and did not try to hide his disapproval.

"Ah," Palpatine seemed to be noticing them for the first time, as well. "These are new generals in our armies, Lord Vader. They will be placed under your command, of course."

"What?" the young man, Zelus, objected before Anakin could respond. His reaction was strangely similar to that reaction of Anakin Skywalker when the Jedi Council informed him that he could not be a Master. "We were to be _Sith Lords,_ not just _generals!_ We were to be your _apprentices!_ "

"And so you were," Palpatine replied, unfazed. "…Before Lord Vader returned." He put a hand on Anakin's shoulder and grasped it fondly. "I have my apprentice."

"This…" Zelus breathed, fury brewing in his voice like thunder in the clouds before lightning splits the sky. "This is _outrageous._ "

"This is what I have decided," Palpatine answered without sympathy. "And you will obey my command."

The man's face was deep red. The veins on his neck were pulsing with wrath. He looked at the Emperor with rage. Loathing. _Hatred._ Anakin could feel this man's hatred radiating out of him as flaming light radiates from a sun. He could feel it, as if it was burning him. He could feel how strong it was. Zelus would have made a fine Sith lord.

"I will obey your command, my lord," Zelus spoke in a low growl. "But I _will not_ take orders from this— this _boy!_ "

Palpatine opened his mouth, anger flashing through his eyes. However, it was not the Emperor's voice that spoke next. It was a voice as cold as ice and as lethal as fire. Even as bold as he was, Zelus felt a chill pass through him when the Sith Lord spoke to him.

"How dare you…" Darth Vader hissed. He stepped forward, between the Emperor and the general, and stood directly in front of Zelus, glowering down at him, his eyes penetrating him as if they could burn him. "How _dare you_ speak against your Emperor!"

Zelus stared back into the Sith's dark eyes. He refused to be intimidated. He refused to back down. He spoke in a low voice, "I'm not afraid of y—"

He choked.

Something like an invisible hand—a hand of iron—closed around his throat, and he could not breathe. Zelus's hand shot instinctively to his neck, and he clutched at it, frantically trying to free himself of whatever was wrapping around his throat, strangling him. Nothing was there. He continued to gasp and sputter in bewilderment and fear, unable to speak, unable to breathe, for several seconds before he realized: it was the hand of Darth Vader that was choking him.

Although Vader was not touching him, the black-gloved hand by his side was clenched in almost a complete fist, as if squeezing something invisible. Zelus understood. It was the Force coiling around his neck like a snake, constricting and strangling him. It was the Dark Side, at the command of Darth Vader.

Hatred burned in Vader's eyes. "You should be," he said in a calm, but chillingly dangerous, tone. "You should be."

Anakin was not pretending when he made this murderous vowel. He watched the man gag and gasp for breath and suffocate and _suffer_ before him, andAnakin felt about as much pity for him as Darth Vader would have. He did not feel pity. He did not show mercy. Because Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader were one. Although he had renounced it, the Dark Side was still in him. It was still _a part of him._

And Anakin was not afraid of it. He would not run from it. He would not even fight it. He would _use_ it. Like a Sith, he would embrace the Dark Side. Like a Jedi, he would destroy it. He would turn it against itself. He would force the serpent to sinks its fangs into its own flesh, and it would die choking on its own poison.

"I could kill you now," Vader said in a callous, almost _mocking_ tone. In fact… He turned his head and met the Emperor's eyes. "Master?" he asked evenly, ready to obey Palpatine's command. If the Emperor said, _Kill him,_ Anakin had every intension of obeying. One Sith down, three to go.

Palpatine hesitated. "He may still be of use to us, Lord Vader," he said after a moment.

"Too bad," said Anakin. (Palpatine was pleased to hear the disappointment in his apprentice's voice.) Anakin opened his palm, and let the man go.

Zelus stumbled forward, grabbing at his neck, gasping to draw air into his empty lungs. When, at last, he managed to catch his breath, he dared to look at Vader again. There was a new fear—but also a new hatred—in his eyes, as he beheld the mighty Sith Lord. A man who could snuff the life out of him with a simple clutching of his fist.

Anakin met his eyes. _I will kill you,_ he thought calmly. _I will kill you all. You deserve it._

Such thoughts, he realized, were the thoughts of a Sith, not a Jedi. However… he was no Jedi.

"Leave us," Emperor Palpatine said to Zelus and the other two generals, who had watched all of this in silent trepidation. "I will speak with my apprentice alone."

Immitis and Petiuit did not hesitate to bow in submission and hurry from the chamber. Zelus looked at the Master, then at the apprentice, then at the Emperor again. He bowed reluctantly. "Yes, my lord," he grumbled under his breath, and he followed the others out. Darth Vader raised one hand, as if waving at the ominous doorway, and the metal doors closed, trapping everything out. He and the Sith Lord were alone.

Palpatine smiled and then started to laugh. "Darth Vader!" he beamed, coming toward Anakin with open arms. It took every ounce of control Anakin had to stand there and allow this man—this monster—whom he would have loved to strangle and kill at this very second, to wrap his arms around him and embrace him. Like a friend. Like a son. "I am _delighted_ to see you, my young apprentice!" Palpatine released Anakin from his grip—Anakin's tense muscles relaxed. "Although I never meant to doubt your power, I must admit I feared that you had been killed on Mustafar."

"Mustafar was… unfortunate," Anakin said slowly. Carefully.

Palpatine's face suddenly became very dark. He lowered his voice to a raspy whisper, and spoke with hatred and blood-thirst, "Tell me, Lord Vader. Was it _Kenobi?_ "

Anakin took a steady breath before he replied. Here it was. Here was his chance to protect Obi-Wan.

"Kenobi is dead, Master," Anakin said emotionlessly.

Palpatine looked shocked. "Dead?" He raised his scarred brow, a gesture which distorted his face even more hideously. "You are sure?"

"Positive," Anakin lied. "The last I saw him he was on Mustafar, drowning in a river of lava. He was a powerful Jedi, but not even the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy could have survived that."

Palpatine nodded, and a thin smile appeared on his lips. "Good," he said warmly, as if this was the happiest news he had heard in a long time. "Good! I trust you kill him, Lord Vader?"

"Yes," said Anakin. He clenched his jaws, as if in disgust, and spat, "He cut off my arm and both of my legs, but then I used the Force to push him into the lava."

"Excellent! my young apprentice. I am _very pleased_ with you. I was foolish to think any Jedi, no matter how powerful, could have defeated you."

Anakin inclined his head. "Thank you, my Master."

"As for your arms and legs, do not be troubled," Palpatine went on, waving a hand as if losing all of your limbs was as trivial a thing as spilling your drink. "It was not a loss, but a gain. Kenobi was trying to break you, but instead he made you stronger. Limbs of durasteel are _far more powerful_ than limbs of flesh and blood. You are now stronger than ever, Lord Vader. Physically and spiritually. And you are _very strong_ with the Dark Side. It will not be long, I am sure, before you are strong enough to save Padmé."

Anakin's heart dropped. He remembered Obi-Wan's command: _You must make him believe your wife and unborn child were killed in the attack on Coruscant._ At once, his insides were squirming around like snakes. This was it. His chance to convince the Emperor. His chance to protect his family. His one, _real_ chance to save Padmé. And to save their children.

He prayed for success.

He turned away from Palpatine. His back to the Emperor, his head lowered, and his face toward the ground, he took a deep breath. "Padmé…" he spoke in a faint, quivery voice. He stopped and closed his eyes, as if it was too painful to go on.

"Lord Vader?" he heard Palpatine say from behind him. The Emperor walked a few steps forward and came to Anakin's side, gravely beholding his apprentice's stone-cold face. Anakin did not glance at him but continued to stare at the floor. "What is it, Lord Vader? What happened?"

Anakin drew in a deep, noisy breath. The air rattled slightly as it broke through the mucus in his chest and moved through his damaged lungs and windpipe. It sounded almost as if he was about to cry, which was a very nice touch. He exhaled abruptly and forced himself to report the tragic ending of his star-crossed love affair: "Padmé is dead." He blinked his eyes hard, as if forcing back tears, and made sure his voice cracked when he finished, "She was killed in the attack on Coruscant."

"Oh…" Palpatine said quietly from beside him. "…I did not sense that in the Force…"

Anakin's heart stopped beating at Palpatine's last remark; however, a moment later, he realized Palpatine was not suspicious. Simply surprised. He did not doubt Darth Vader was telling the truth. He had no reason to doubt Darth Vader's loyalty. Not yet, anyway.

"I'm so sorry, Lord Vader," Palpatine whispered in forged sorrow. Yet, Anakin was no longer fooled by this man's phony mask. He was no longer tricked by his lies nor tempted by his false promises. He went to the devil and back in order to see the truth, yet it had opened his eyes. Anakin was no longer blinded by the Darkness. He could see through Palpatine as easily as clear water. The Emperor said, _I'm so sorry,_ but what he meant was, _Perfect._

"And the child?" asked Palpatine.

Anakin just shook his head.

Palpatine sighed. This time he might have been a little disappointed. The offspring of Anakin Skywalker would have been a powerful asset to the Sith.

"I am very sorry," he said. He put a hand on Anakin's shoulder, as if that was supposed to comfort him. "But, I assure you, we _will_ have vengeance on every Jedi and every traitor, who are responsible for her death."

 _You and your clones are the ones who attacked Coruscant, you moron!_ Anakin wanted to shout in outrage. You _would have been the one responsible for her death, not the Jedi! How stupid do you think I am!?_

But, then again, Anakin had to have been pretty damn stupid to fall for all of the other pathetic lies of Palpatine, which he had believed. Besides, from here on out, it was his mission to play stupid. To play the part of Palpatine's loyal, submissive, mindless servant. To make him trust him. To make him love him. And, when the time came, to stab him in the back.

Anakin turned to face Palpatine. He looked him in the eye and nodded with determination. "We will," he agreed with certainty. "I will not stop until every one of them is destroyed."

Palpatine nodded in sinister approval. "I expected no less of you, Lord Vader. You are wise, and you are _powerful._ However, before we pursue the traitors, there is something I need you to do for me. Consider it a… _personal favor_."

Anakin frowned slightly. He did not like the sounds of this. He did not like that malicious smile forming on Palpatine's mouth. He did not like that malign gleam in his eyes. He knew this could not be good.

Vader nodded in submission. "Anything you ask, Master…"

"You are familiar with one of Coruscant's neighboring planets of Fresia?"

"Yes, Master…"

"Unfortunately, a large population of the planet has sworn unshakable loyalty to the Republic—the Republic that no longer exists. One hears whispers that they are actually planning for some sort of… _rebellion._ "

Anakin shifted uncomfortably. Yes, these whispers were true. But they went further than Palpatine was yet aware. It was not just a large population of Fresia preparing for a rebellion. It was a large population of the _galaxy._

"In fact," Palpatine went on, obvious of Anakin's unease, "I hear, in the Command Center on Fresia, they have gathered a number of Force-sensitive beings. Potential Jedi, if you believe it. Lord Vader…" Palpatine leaned closer to him. "They are trying to breed a new _Jedi army_ , to replace the one we have destroyed."

Anakin swallowed. He spoke evenly, "What will you have me do, Master?"

"I want you to go to Fresia, enter the Command Center, and kill every living being you find inside. As for the rest of the planet, make sure they know such treachery will not be forgiven."

He nodded slowly. "I understand," he said in a voice like death: void of emotion and void of life.

Palpatine smiled. "Good, Lord Vader. Good."

Darth Vader bowed to the Emperor. Without a word, he turned his back on him and headed for the doors to leave the chamber. Before he went out, he heard Palpatine say behind him, "Do what must be done, Lord Vader. Do not hesitate. Show no mercy."

A chill like the breath of death cut through him. His skin was suddenly covered with goosebumps. His blood froze, and his heart became ice. He remembered the last time he heard Palpatine speak those words. Those same, exact, _terrible_ words. It was the night he led the raid on the Jedi Temple. The night he became a murderer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sworn to Darkness**

CHAPTER XI

Obi-Wan Kenobi never thought he would hold a woman's hand as she gave birth to her first son and and her first daughter. He never thought he would hold a newborn baby in his arms, or cradle an infant on his shoulder, or burp a baby that's just finished breastfeeding, or struggle to coax a baby to drink from a bottle, or wake up in the middle of the night to rock a crying baby back to sleep, or get hardly any sleep at all, because he's too busy caring for babies, or change dirty diapers, or scrub spit-up stains out of his shirts, or spend _hours_ just cradling infants in his arms, pacing the room and singing softly in hopes they'll drift off. He never thought he would be the one holding a child when she smiled for the first time, or when he laughed for the first time, or when they took their first steps. He never thought he would be the one holding their tiny hands, or hugging their little bodies, or kissing their precious heads. He never thought he would have children.

Of course, Obi-Wan never thought about having children. He never even considered it. Ever since he was a child—on that day many years ago when a real Jedi Master arrived at his home on Stewjon and told him he was "strong with the Force," something every child _dreams_ of hearing, and perhaps _he_ could be a Jedi one day too—Obi-Wan knew he what his future would bring. He knew he would be a Jedi, and, of course, he knew that meant he would never know love, he would never have a wife, he would never have children, he would never have a family. But he did not care. He did not want any of that. What he wanted was to be a Jedi. He wanted to be like the great Jedi Masters he always adored and looked up to when he was a child. He wanted to do something good. Important. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to protect the galaxy, the people, the Republic. At the age of four, he wanted to leave his parents—even though, he knew in his heart, he would never see them again—so that he could protect them.

The thought of raising children was not one that crossed Obi-Wan's mind. Ever.

Yet, here he was, watching all of these things he thought were, for a Jedi, impossible come true. Obi-Wan knew he would never be a father, yet these children loved him like he was their father. Obi-Wan knew he would never have children, yet he was learning to love these babies like they were his own. Obi-Wan knew he would never have a family, yet he had one now. He was protecting Anakin's family. And in doing so, it was as if he had a family of his own.

But it was strictly Jedi business, of course. It was his duty to protect this family— _Anakin's_ family. It was his responsibility. His job.

Nothing more.

* * *

"Hello!? Bail!? Is this Senator Organa!?"

"Yes. Are you alone?"

"Yes, are you?"

"Only our allies are with me. We can hear you. What's wrong?"

"Listen," Anakin Skywalker said urgently—frantically—into the communicator device as his spacecraft sped toward the vulnerable and obvious victim of Fresia. "Palpatine knows about the rebel movement on Fresia. He's sending troops there now to destroy everyone he thinks is a part of it. The planet needs to be evacuated _now!_ "

"How many troops is he sending?"

"It doesn't matter how many. I've seen what Palpatine can do. He'll destroy the entire planet if he has to—"

"You need to answer the question," a different voice said firmly, distrustful and angry. " _How many troops is he sending?"_

Anger flared up inside of Anakin. It did not matter how many troops Palpatine was sending! Numbers were nothing to the Sith. One Sith could kill a hundred soldiers, easy. Numbers did not matter. People were going to _die!_ Did they not realize that!? Yet, he could see the Rebels were not going to listen to a word he said unless he obeyed them, so he clenched his teeth and answered, "Myself, a general, and a brigade of clones."

"That's hardly enough to destroy an entire planet."

His fury finally blew up like a bomb. "I could kill everyone on the planet _by myself!_ " Anakin shouted.

Silence came from the other side of his communicator.

Anakin's insides churned. _I shouldn't have said that…_

"Bail?"

"We heard you," Organa answered flatly.

"You need to alert the Command Center on Fresia—"

"We will," said Mon Mothma's voice. "We will inform them of the attack. How much time do they have before Palpatine's troops arrive?"

"Half an hour at most," said Anakin, glancing nervously at the ship's high speed. He was simply keeping up with the other imperial spacecrafts flying in formation around him. "I'll try to slow us down, but I don't know if I'll be able to."

"No, don't," Organa warned him. "Another five minutes will not be worth it if the Emperor starts to suspect you. We will alert Fresia right away, and we will tell them they do not have much time."

"Tell them to evacuate," Anakin said, in a manner little too close to giving an order.

"We will," Mon Mothma said, before the men could reply.

Anakin sighed, somewhat relived but not much. "Thank you."

"Remember, whatever happens in the raid," she added gravely, "you _cannot let them know you are on our side_ ," which was almost the exact same thing Obi-Wan had said to him at their last meeting.

Anakin's stomach rolled over inside his gut. He knew this was going to be bad. He could feel it in the Force, stronger than any premonition. Something bad was going to happen. If Fresia was not evacuated by the time Palpatine's troops got there, he knew there would be bloodshed. He knew there would be death. And there was nothing he could do about it. Even if innocent people were dying before his eyes, he could not help them. Not if it would give him away. That was his mission. Those were his orders.

He did not think he could do it.

"Is Obi-Wan there?" Anakin asked reluctantly, after a pause. "I need to talk to Obi-Wan…"

"Master Kenobi is not here," said Organa. "Whatever you need to say, you can say to us."

But they were wrong. He could not tell them. What he needed to say, he could say only to Obi-Wan.

Anakin sighed softly. "It's nothing," he said into the communicator, as if it really did not matter. "Just make sure Fresia evacuates quickly."

"We will do our best."

"Alright…" Anakin muttered grudgingly. "Please, hurry."

They would do their best, but Anakin knew all too well: sometimes the best was not enough. The best was never enough. He was the best Jedi who ever lived. He was the _Chosen One._ He was not even close to enough.

It was perhaps twenty minutes later when three Imperial spacecrafts landed outside the Command Center on Fresia. Dozens of clones poured out of the ship, their armor on and their blasters in hand, and swarmed around the building, ready to storm it when the order was given. A very pompous general followed them out one of the ships, and, out of his own private vessel, came the mighty Sith Lord Darth Vader.

The front doors of the Command Center opened, and a man came out, coming down the landing strip to meet the visitors from Coruscant.

 _They didn't evacuate…_ Anakin realized in terror, as he watched the man approach. His heart plummeted into this gut, and dark oblivion consumed the place it used to be. _Why didn't they evacuate!? What is the matter with them!? Do they think they stand a chance against the Emperor!? Do they think Palpatine won't_ kill all of them _!?_

"Welcome, my friends," the man said as he came before their commander. He bowed low to Darth Vader. "Is there anything we can do to be of assistance to—"

"Save your breath," Darth Vader snapped hostility. "We know Fresia is plotting to rebel against the Empire."

"My lord!" the man gasped, as if truly shocked to hear such an outrageous decree. "Fresia would never betray the Empire! We are loyal subjects to Lord Palpatine—"

"Enough," said Vader. He pushed roughly passed the Fresian and started for the building. "I'll decide that for myself."

"But—" Anakin heard him cry out desperately from behind him. "My lord, please! Wait!"

He heard rapid footfalls, as the man hurried after him, trying to stop him.

He heard General Zelus snarl viciously, "Stay where you are!"

He heard the desperate Fresian make one last protest, "Please, let me explain! You are mistaken—"

He heard a blaster go off.

Anakin froze.

He listened to the man's voice go from a panicked protest to a cry of agony. He heard the body fall to the ground. He heard Zelus grunt pitilessly, as if to say, _You should have listened to me, idiot._ He heard the man's feeble groans as he lay there dying, his life draining with his blood. He could smell blood.

 _Oh, my gosh… He just killed a man…_ Anakin thought numbly. Emptily. A hollow pit filled his ribcage, having replaced his heart and lungs. He could feel nothing in his chest. As if he really was just a machine now.

 _WE just killed him,_ he realized in horror _._ The same demon that had haunted Anakin since the night he invaded the Jedi Temple—a demon that haunted him day and night, in waking and in sleep, a demon which he could not escape—returned to him now and whispered in his ear, _You are a murderer._

But there was another voice in his head, a voice of the Good Side—or so they said—commanding him: _Whatever happens in the raid, you cannot let them know you are on our side._

Anakin forced his legs to move. To walk. To walk toward the Command Center. To carry Darth Vader through his mission.

He did not look back.

A number of clones followed Darth Vader into the Command Center, their weapons at the ready. The front doors opened, and another man stepped in their way, trying to convince them Fresia was still loyal to the Empire. "Please, my friends, we are your servants—" he barely managed to cry, before a bolt of red fire hit the center of his forehead, cut effortlessly through his skull, and sank deep into his brain, burning it and charring it. Anakin watched the man's eyes roll back in his head; his legs went limp; and he collapsed lifelessly to the floor. Darth Vader stepped over the body and entered the Command Center.

They were met with little resistance, after that. A few men, poorly armed with low-quality blasters, fired at them as clones swarmed the halls. Yet, they were no match for Palatine's troops. They did not stand a chance. The battle was over before it began. The rebels fell. One by one. Until, soon, there would be none left. They would all be dead. Just like Anakin told the base.

Anakin did not look back. He went swiftly down the corridors, his black cloak billowing around him like the wings of death, and he did not look back to watch the fighting behind him. He did not look back to see the rebels and clones exchanged fire. He did not want to see what he knew was happening. He did not want to see good people fall and bleed and die. When he came to the doors, behind which he knew—he could sense it in the Force—dozens of Force-sensitive, possible-future-Jedi were hiding, he pushed it open and went in.

There they were. They leaped in terror and turned to stare at him as he crashed through the doors. They saw him. They recoiled. Like frightened pups, they scrambled backward, retreating to the other side of the room, trying to distance themselves from him, trying to hide from him, trying to get away from him… But there was nowhere to hide. There was nowhere to go.

For the second time in too short a time, Anakin found himself staring into the terrified and helpless faces of his victims: innocent creatures he was supposed to kill. They could do nothing but stare at the Sith, their wide eyes flooded with horror and tears, and pray he might show them mercy. They could not escape him. They could not fight him. They were unarmed. Weaponless. Defenseless. Innocent. Children.

Anakin entered that room, and everything around him was gone. Every solar system stopped dead in it's tracks. Every lung stopped breathing. Every heart stopped beating. The galaxy held still. Time held still. Actually, time rewound. Anakin Skywalker was not on Fresia. He was on Coruscant. He was entering the Jedi Temple. He was starting into the faces of Younglings he was about to murder.

Every single one of them was a child. The oldest of them looked perhaps eight years old. Their faces were the faces of the Jedi children in the Temple; their faces were the faces of Anakin's own children, Luke and Leia. He stared, paralyzed, into that shadowy room, starting at children who stared back at him, images of his past and of his nightmares living before his eyes. A hurricane of voices roiled inside his head, frothing and boiling like lava in the core of Mustafar.

Chancellor Palpatine: _Do what must be done, Lord Vader. Do not hesitate. Show no mercy._

A murdered child: _Master Skywalker, there are too many of them. What are we going to do?_

Padmé: _You're a good person; don't do this!_

Anakin Skywalker: _What have I done!? I'm a monster! I'm a murderer! I KILLED THEM!_

Obi-Wan Kenobi: _Of course, we want to save as many as we can, but if Palpatine finds out you're with the Rebellion, this entire uprising could fail, and the whole galaxy will suffer for it._

Emperor Palpatine: _I want you to go to Fresia, enter the Command Center, and kill every living being you find inside._

Mon Mothma: _Whatever happens in the raid, you cannot let them know you are on our side._

Anakin Skywalker: _What do I do? WHAT DO I DO!? Oh, God! What CAN I do…?_

His mind was racing a thousand miles per hour, but his body had become stone. He could not move. He could not even breathe. As if stunned, in a trace, he stared at children trapped in the room before him. They just stared back at him. Terrified. Helpless. Waiting. Waiting for him to do something.

But Anakin did not know what to do.

"You found them," a voice of odious gladness said behind Anakin. He flinched, and he was jerked abruptly back into the present. He turned his head in time to see General Zelus appear at his side. "And they're unarmed. These traitors are even more stupid than I expected." Smirking and chuckling, he raised his blaster and aimed it at the children. He put his finger on the trigger and—

"Wait!"

Darth Vader's hand of black-gloved durasteel closed around the blaster's barrel, and he pulled the weapon to the side. It was no longer aimed at the children. Zelus turned his head and glared at Vader in indignation. Vader met his eyes with an icy stare.

"Get all of our troops and wait outside the Command Center. I will handle this myself."

Zelus looked disgusted. "That won't be necessary, Lord Vader, I can take them out quite easily without your—"

He jerked forward—as if someone had come up behind him and slammed their palms into his back. The next thing he knew, he was dangling in the air, his feet a few inches above the ground; his blaster clattered noisy on the floor; his hands shot to his neck, and he tried to set himself free of what was choking him; and Darth Vader's hand was closed around his throat.

"I said…" Darth Vader spoke in a very slow, warning, threatening voice. Like the growl of a wolf before it attacks and devours its prey. "…wait outside."

"I—" Zelus gagged, trying to speak. Instead of words, it was terrible, strangled, choking noises that came from his mouth. He managed a nod.

"Good."

Anakin let him go. More like, he threw him to the ground. Zelus stumbled backward as his feet hit the floor, and his back hit the wall behind him. He swayed slightly, holding one hand against his throat. Then, glancing at Darth Vader, he snatched up his blaster and retreated wordlessly back into the corridor. Vader used the Force to close the door behind him. He turned to face the traitors. The children.

 _Of course, we want to save as many as we can,_ Obi-Wan had said, _"but if Palpatine finds out you're with the Rebellion, this entire uprising could fail, and the whole galaxy will suffer for it._

If you had the choice to save a hundred people that you do not know, or one friend who you love above all else, which would you choose?

If you had the choice to save an entire galaxy, or a few dozen children, who will probably die with the galaxy if you do not chose to save it, which would you chose?

 _Whatever happens in the raid,_ Mon Mothma had said, _you cannot let them know you are on our side._

That was his duty.

 _Do what must be done, Lord Vader,_ Palpatine had said. _Do not hesitate. Show no mercy._

Those were his orders.

But Anakin was never very good at following orders.

He looked into those innocent faces one more time. He thought of Luke and Leia. He thought of Padmé. He thought of Obi-Wan. He thought of the galaxy. He thought of his mission. He made his decision.

Darth Vader took and deep breath and reached for his lightsaber—a new lightsaber he had constructed before he returned to Coruscant to face Palpatine. He pressed the activator, and a bar of plasma sprouted from the metal hilt. Darth Vader's lightsaber burned as red as the innocent blood he had spilt.

* * *

General Zelus stood outside the Command Center. His clones stood in military formation behind him. He stared at the building and waited for Darth Vader to return. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were like fire. Smoldering with hatred. Jealousy.

 _What's taking him so long?_ the general thought in spite, as he glared at those closed doors. _How long does it take to kill a few pathetic, unarmed,_ children _!? I guess, Lord Vader is not as powerful as Palpatine thinks he is!_

The doors opened. Zelus and the clones stood up a little straighter and looked ahead in expectancy. A man cloaked in black came through the doors and started toward them. It was Darth Vader, as they expected. His face was the same as it always was: impossible to read, as hard as stone, as cold as ice, feeling-less and merciless. He came swiftly down the landing strip and approached Zelus.

"Everyone inside is dead," Vader said abruptly, remorselessly. "Set fire to the building. I want it burnt to the ground."

Zelus frowned, surprised but also defiant. "Burn the building?" he repeated. "That is not the order Emperor Palpatine gave us."

"That is the order _I_ am giving _you!_ " Vader roared. He stepped toward Zelus, in a threatening manner that made the man stiffen, afraid he was about to be attacked. "The Emperor said, let Fresia know its treachery will not be forgiven," Vader snapped in Zelus's face. "That is what I will do. I said, _burn the building._ Do you understand that? Or do I have to remind you how to follow orders?"

Zelus glared at Vader and grit his teeth. He wanted to argue, to stand up to Vader, to prove that he was not afraid of him… but he was afraid of him. Although he would not admit it, even to himself, he knew this Sith Lord was far more powerful than he was. This man could kill him easy. Zelus knew he could not beat Vader. At least, not now. Not yet.

So he let out an abrupt breath, turned his back on the Sith Lord, and repeated the order to the clones, "Burn the Command Center. Burn it to the ground."

Darth Vader nodded in approval. A mocking smirk appeared on his lips. "Very good," said Vader. Zelus glanced at him, and their eyes met. "You're learning."

Zelus turned away, fury boiling in his chest. But he did not say anything. Not aloud, anyway. In his cold heart, he made a promise. A silent oath that one day, he would be strong enough to face Vader.

Darth Vader turned and gazed with cold eyes upon the Command Center. He watched the clones swarm around the building and hurl fire-grenades inside every door, every window. He watched explosions go off like volcanos erupting on Mustafar. He watched red flame begin to smolder inside building. He watched the floor start to burn. He watched the wood start to crack. He watched flaming hands stretch long arms and claw-like fingers along the floor, up the walls, across the ceiling, all around the building until the whole place was ablaze. He watched fire engulf it, devour and consume it as a beast desolates its prey. He watched the once-grand structure transform before his eyes into a giant torch. He watched a tongue of flame burning ominously against a purple twilight sky, clouds of red smoke drift toward the low stars, the charred-black, skeletal structure of what was once the Command Center crumble in a pile of debris and ash. It was burnt to the ground.

When the Imperial ships finally left, smoke was still billowing from the remains of the building—a heap of broken pieces, burnt wood, charred equipment, and unidentifiable bodies. If any beings were still alive inside the Command Center when it was burned, they were dead now. However, when Darth Vader said, _Everyone inside is dead,_ he was telling the truth. Everyone inside the Command Building was dead before it was set on fire, and now it was impossible to discern their burnt corpses from burnt wood. Everything was ash now. It was impossible to guess just how many bodies were cremated in that building. So, nobody knew 26 children were not among them.

They did not know Darth Vader did not kill the children. They did not know, instead of using his lightsaber to murder them, as he was supposed to, he used it to cut a hole in the wall, and he told them to follow him. They did not know several of the dead clones that burned with the building were not killed by blasters but by a lightsaber, not killed by rebels but by a Jedi. They did not know Darth Vader led the children through the hallways, killing any clone that saw him before he could ask what he was doing, out of the building, and to safety. They did not know, when the Command Center was set on fire and burned down, the children were hidden, unscratched, about a quarter-mile away.

"Do you know who Master Yoda or Master Obi-Wan Kenobi is?" the strange man in black asked the children before he left them hiding in a rocky cave of a Fresian cliff, which overlooked a pink-sanded beach.

Even as scared as they were, the children's faces lit up at the mention of the great Jedi masters. "Oh, yes!" a little boy, who reminded him a bit of Luke, cried. "Of course, we do." Of course, they did. The Jedi Masters were the heroes of every child in the galaxy.

"Wait here until one of them comes to get you," the stranger—who was now their _savior_ —said, and many children gasped at the revelation that they would actually get to _meet_ Master Yoda or Master Kenobi. "Stay hidden. Do not let anyone see you, and _do not_ go with anyone except Master Yoda or Master Kenobi. Do you understand?"

They all nodded, staring at him with wide eyes, still afraid, but somehow at ease, because they knew everything was going to be okay.

He nodded and turned his back to go. "Wait!" one the the children called after him. He stopped and turned around. He found himself looking into the face of a little girl and pair of deep brown eyes that reminded him of Leia's. She stared at him for several seconds before she said anything, eyeing him carefully as if trying to figure something out. "You're Anakin Skywalker, aren't you?"

Anakin's throat clenched like a fist. He did not know what to say. He stared mutely back into the girl's eyes, his own eye flooded with sorrow and regret and guilt and the pain of knowing he had broken the heart of perhaps ever child in the galaxy. He did not answer.

It did not matter. The girl recognized him. And as soon as she said his name, all of the other children recognized him too. In the next moment, they were all staring at him, goggling at him, shocked, scared, confused, and awed. A wide smile spread across the girl's face, and she cried out, "I told them! I told them they were wrong!"

Anakin let out a slow breath. A small frown appeared on his forehead. He stepped closer to the girl and kneeled down in front of her. "What did you tell them?" he asked, in a voice that emitted a whisper.

"I told them you were still a hero," the child said. "I told them you would never join the Dark Side. I told them you were _good_." A smile—sweet, pure, and innocent, just like this child, ignorant of evil—appeared on her face. "And I was right."

* * *

Anakin sat alone in the seat of his speeder. He was flying aimlessly around Coruscant, not paying attention to where he was going, hardly paying enough attention to make sure he stayed in the right traffic lane. It was late. The city glittered with thousands of lights, some blinking, some unwavering; and even though it was the middle of the night—early morning now, actually—the glow of the city gave plenty of light to see clearly. However, the sky was black. It was like the void in Anakin Skywalker's heart.

He stared absently at the crisscross traffic lanes before him, above and below him, his body present but not his mind. One hand was on the control yoke, and the other gripped his rebel's communicator device as if he was trying to crush it. He did not take heed of anything around him. (In the last fifteen minutes alone, he had almost crashed into another speeder _twice_.) He felt empty inside. Dead. He could not stop thinking about what had happened today.

Good, they said. You did well, they said. You did your duty, they said. Thank you.

But that was not how Anakin saw it. What he saw was innocent people dying. Unarmed people. _Good_ people. People he could have saved—people he _should_ have saved—but people he did absolutely nothing to help. Instead of defending them, he stood by and _watched_ while people were murdered. He let people die. As far was he was concerned, he was the one responsible for their death. Although he was not the one firing those blasters, the crime was his as much his as it was the clones. He was a murderer like the rest of them.

He glanced at the communicator in his hand, wishing someone would answer it. Waiting to hear that one familiar voice he longed so desperately to hear... He had already been in contact with the rebel base on Alderaan. He told them about Fresia, and they immediately sent Yoda to retrieve the children. Since then, Anakin received a report that the Younglings were safe, hidden somewhere of which they did not care to inform him. Then they told him to go back to Palpatine and continue in this little, dangerous, _terrible_ charade. And Anakin told them, before he could go back, he had to talk to Obi-Wan.

With reluctance they finally agreed to grant his request. They told him to wait while they transferred the single to Kenobi's comlink. Yet, apparently, wherever Obi-Wan was there was very poor reception, because that was more than ten minutes ago, and still Anakin had heard nothing from his old Master.

Static cut in through Anakin communicator. He bolted up straight in his seat and stared at the device in anticipation. _Come on,_ he thought anxiously, desperately. _Please…_ There were several seconds of static, of signals struggling to meet each other and connect, and finally… the voice Anakin was longing to hear.

"Anakin?"

He sighed in relief. Just upon hearing that voice, comfort washed over him like a warm wave. It felt as if, for the first time since he left Alderaan, he was not completely alone. He was not completely alone, abandoned, and forsaken in a realm of darkness. It was not just him and his demons.

"Hi, Obi-Wan," Anakin answered slowly. He tried to sound at ease, untroubled. He failed. His voice was weak, hesitant, and it trembled slightly when he spoke. He could not hide his distress. Especially not from Obi-Wan, who knew him better than anyone ease and who could read him like a book.

"They told me about the raid of Fresia," Obi-Wan said evenly from the other side of that communicator, an unknown place that seemed like _worlds_ away. Even though he had no idea where Obi-Wan was, Anakin knew it was far. Very far. He could feel it. "How are you?"

"Fine," Anakin said without hesitating. But apparently he could not lie to Obi-Wan as easily as he could lie to Palpatine.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Anakin…" he said softly. Although he did not say it aloud, Anakin understood what Obi-Wan meant: _You don't have to do that, Anakin. You don't have to lie to me._

Anakin let out a slow breath. For some reason, without warning or cause, he suddenly felt his throat tighten and his eyes start to sting, as if he was about to cry. He refused to let that happen. _Especially_ not while he was talking to Obi-Wan. He blinked his eyes hard and forced his emotions back down his throat into his chest. He shrugged, as if Obi-Wan could see him. "I guess, I'm fine," he tried to answer casually, but when his voice came out it was obvious he was upset. He even _sounded_ like he was about to cry.

 _Kriff._

He could hear Obi-Wan sigh through the communicator. "Anakin," he began slowly, "you did everything you could. You _saved_ the lives of many children, who would have been killed otherwise. The court is very pleased with you." He hesitated before he added, "And so am I."

That was the first hint of praise Obi-Wan had given Anakin since Mustafar. Perhaps the first small step—and a small step it was, but a step nonetheless—towards forgiveness. It touched Anakin to think Obi-Wan was pleased with him. He had thought his former-master would never be pleased with him again. Anakin's heart would have warmed with happiness, had it not already been frozen solid. Right now, he was too numb, too empty to feel much of anything.

"I just wish…" he started in a mumble, but he stopped, reluctant to go on. Obi-Wan waited patiently for Anakin to take a deep breath, get ahold of himself, and continue. "I just wish I could have done more..."

Obi-Wan was expecting this. "I know, Anakin," he said heavily. "You always have. But you did _everything you could have done_ —"

"I could have saved those people," Anakin refuted. His voice was suddenly strong, like rock. He was angry. Angry at himself and the Emperor. He gripped the communicator in his fist, as fire surged through his bones and robotic limbs alike. His voice grew louder and his anger stronger as he went on, "Those were good people, Obi-Wan, and I could have saved them. You know I could have."

"No, Anakin. You could _not_ have. Not without giving yourself away—"

"Would it have mattered, Obi-Wan? The Rebellion would have gone on all the same, and those people would still be alive right now."

"Of course, it would have mattered, Anakin," Obi-Wan said sharply. "Without you, this Rebellion could _fail._ We _need_ Palpatine to trust you; that is _most_ essential. Believe me, Anakin, _many more_ innocent people will be killed if you are _not_ the commander of Palpatine's armies. Like those children today."

Anakin sighed heavily, smearing a gloved hand over his face. "I guess, you're right," he grumbled. He fell silent and stared at the glowing city as he maneuvered his speeder through traffic. There was a time he loved this place. There was a time he and Obi-Wan would fly this city together. There was a time he would sneak out of the Jedi Temple at night and visit Padmé. There was a time Coruscant was not ruled by Darkness. He sighed again.

"How are you feeling, Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked from the other end of their commutators, somewhere far away. "Are your injuries healing alright?"

"Yeah," Anakin answered flatly. "I'm getting stronger."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"How are Padmé and the kids?" Anakin asked in a dry, tired voice, suddenly drained of everything. Drained of his anger and frustration and remorse and guilt… Such a load was getting too heavy to carry.

"Well," Obi-Wan answered immediately. "Well…" he reconsidered and retracted his original answer, "…they miss you."

A bitter smile formed on Anakin's lips. He had only been gone a little more than a day, and already they missed him. Already, _he_ missed them too. At this moment, the full weight of his loneliness fell on him and hit him like a blaster-bolt in the chest, and he realized just how desperately he longed to be with them again. How he longed to see Padmé's pretty face, to kiss her soft lips, just to hear her sweet voice; how he longed to hold his babies in his arms, and cradle them against his chest, and kiss their precious heads… He longed just to be near them. "I miss them too," he said quietly. "…more than anything… Will you tell them I miss them, Obi-Wan?"

"Of course, I will."

"Tell them, I think of them all of the time, and I can't wait to see them again. And tell them, I love them."

"I will." Obi-Wan's voice was faint now.

Anakin nodded. "Thank you, Obi-Wan. Thank you for everything." Thank you for more than he could say aloud.

Obi-Wan answered stiffly, "You're welcome."

Silence fell between them. Anakin hesitated several seconds, thinking of something else to say, something else to delay him, anything else to consume time… But time was marching onward, like a steady heartbeat. It was not waiting. Anakin had put this off for as long as he could, but he could not wait forever. He had to face his fear. He had to face the Darkness. "Well…" he muttered, begrudging the words as he forced them off his tongue. "…I should go. The Emperor is waiting for me."


	12. Chapter 12

Sworn to Darkness

Chapter XII

There are many desert planets in the Outer Rim. These planets are dry, hot, and barren of anything that grows. They are miles and miles of nothing, borderless oceans without a drop of water, endless terrains of sand so hot it burns the skin to touch. Their sun—or sometimes, their _multiple suns_ —scorch the planets, cooking and smothering any life that tries to blossom there. Merciless heat beats upon the ground, so it cracks like parched skin. It is always humid. The air, itself, is thick—sometimes toxic— and, as you inhale it, it tries to suffocate you. Many of these planets are uninhabitable. However, there are a few capable of supporting life. Amongst them, is a planet called Tatooine.

Although the desert is, to those used to the comfortable climates of the inner planets, near unbearable, and the terrain is dangerous, and the technology is some of the worst in the galaxy, there is a fair number of beings scattered across Tatooine. There are Jawa, and Tusken Raiders, and other desert creatures, but there is also a growing population of humans. Some live in small villages, and some live separate from the others. Although not a crop cannot be grown on this desert wasteland, most of these men are farmers. Moisture farmers.

One of these farmers was a man named Owen Lars. His father, mother, and step-mother, were dead now, and he lived on a moisture farm with his wife, Beru. The Lars' closest neighbors ( _closest neighbors_ but still a few miles away) was another moisture farmer and his family: the man, his wife, and their young children.

It was a very humble, very simple family. Their home was small, and their life was modest, yet it seemed they wanted nothing else. They kept to themselves mostly. Every now and again, they would visit the Lars family, but no one else.

The father was often working in the fields, but, at the same time, it seemed he was always looking after his children, and he was _always_ keeping a protective eye on his family. A few times a week, he—accompanied by his wife, son, and daughter, whose hands he would hold in death-grips, as if he expected someone would try to snatch his children from him—would get in their speeder and go to the closest town to sell water. He was always polite but never overly friendly or overly talkative. He was a kind man, who was not eager to make new friends. His family was enough for him.

The mother was a very pretty woman, but she would have been more beautiful if she did not live on Tatooine: a calloused desert of blistering heat. On Tatooine, dressed in desert robes, her hair pulled up in a bun or tied back in a braid, her face void of cosmetics, she was a mother. On another planet, grabbed in an elegant dress, her hair styled and shining, her face decorated in makeup, she could have been a queen. However, she did not care about vanity any longer. The only thing she really cared about was her family.

A simpler family could not be found in the whole galaxy. Simple, humble, quiet. They were just good, honest people, devoted fully to each other. They lived a bit separate from the rest of the population. They worked hard to make a living. They loved nothing more than they loved each other. There was nothing unusual about them.

And yet… upon second glance… there were a few things about them that seemed a bit… _peculiar._

It _was_ a bit odd, one had to admit, how they kept to themselves like they did, how they lived in solitude and shunned the rest of the world as if afraid they would catch the plague if they went into it. It was also a bit odd how the husband never kissed his wife… at least not in public. Perhaps, that was not so odd: certainly he kissed her when they were alone at their house. Still, it was a little strange that, every once in a while, she called him by a name that was not his. It is not strange that a wife should have a nickname for her husband; however, every time she called him this, she would suddenly retract, or gasp, or cover her mouth, as if a vile curse word had slipped from her lips, and he would look at her in a way that said, _You know not to call me that._ What was strangest of all, however, was that the children did not call the man "father." Instead, they called him by his name.

The man only ever introduced himself by his first name. He never mentioned a last name. In fact, nobody on Tatooine, even the farmers and salespeople he dealt with on regular bases, knew the surname of this family. It was, one must admit, a bit peculiar. However, nobody thought anything of it until rumor began to circulate that this man was somehow— _how_ no one quite knew but _somehow_ —associated with the name _Kenobi._

 _"Kenobi,"_ General Petiuit repeated. A breathy, serpentine hiss, almost like the sound flame makes as it flaps in the breeze, fell through fang-like teeth, and that was this demon's voice.

"Y—yes, sir…" stuttered a Tatooine moisture farmer, who the Imperial general had corner in the marketplace. The man was backed up against a rough cement wall, his mind racing as frantically as his heart, as it hammered painfully against his eardrums, so loudly it was getting difficult to hear the general speak over the noise. Yet, his body remained paralyzed. He did not dare to move.

The alien took a step closer to him, observing him hungrily with black, beetle-like eyes, inspecting him the way a Wampa inspects a piece of meat before he devours it. Petiuit parted his jaws to display a mouth full of yellowing daggers. The farmer could immediately smell the _reek_ of the creature's breath. It smelled like death. Decaying matter. Rotting flesh. Fresh blood. It was hard to tell, but the man was quite certain he could see red stains on the creature's fangs… His blood turned cold at this frightful revelation. He could also see goopy strings of poison dripping like saliva inside his mouth and down his teeth… Like a snake, this alien's bite was venomous.

"B—but…" he quickly added, suddenly terrified this monster was going to make _him_ his next victim. "These are just rumors, sir. I— I doubt they're true…"

Petiuit considered this. He moved closer to the defenseless moisture farmer and studied him as if he was also considering sinking his fangs into him. The man gulped. He was already pressed against the wall, already as far away from the beast as he could possibly get… There was nowhere he could go. There was no way of escaping death, if the general chose that fate for him.

"What is this… moisture farmer, did you say? What name does he go by?" Petiuit hissed.

"Ben," the man answered immediately, too terrified to hesitate, and too petrified to lie… even though Ben was his friend (or at least, a friendly acquaintance), and it seemed very likely he was betraying him to his death.

"Ben _what!?_ " demanded the general, snarling and showing his fangs, as if he thought the farmer was withholding this information on purpose.

"I don't know, sir!" the farmer frantically whimpered, recoiling in fear. "He didn't— he didn't say… His name is Ben; that's all I know…"

"That's all you know?" Petiuit repeated callously. _Mockingly_. He leaned in so close, the farmer could _feel_ his toxic breath against his face. He could feel it eating away at his skin like rays from the desert sun. He could feel it burning his nose and throat as he inhaled…

He shook his head, utterly horrified. Utterly helpless. He was sweating, trembling, whimpering, and close to tears. As vulnerable and pathetic as a baby. "That's all I know, I swear," he whispered. The desperation in his voice was a plea for mercy, as was the terror in his eyes.

"He never said a last name?" the snake asked. There was something in his tone that suggested pity—mercy—and the moisture farmer was relieved, because he believed his life would be spared. He did not realize this pity was fake. It was not pity, at all. It was torment. The demon was mocking his prey, giving him false hope in order to tease him and torture him even more.

He shook his head, sighing in relief as he spoke, "I don't know his last name…"

" _Kenobi_ is his last name!" the beast roared. Without warning, he erupted in fury—outrage at this _ignorance._ He swung a thin but inhumanly _powerful_ arm at the man, striking him in the chest. The sheer force of the blow was enough to fracture several ribs, knock the air of his lungs, knock him to the ground, and leave him stunned, cringing, and gasping for breath. However, that was not what killed him. Petiuit's three, knife-like claws cut deep slices in the man's chest, and, within seconds, poison was coursing through his veins.

In the next few minutes—the last few this man would live—he is on the ground, slumped against the wall, started by the attack and in pain from his wounds but believing he is not hurt too badly. He watches the general turn his back and storm off into the desert. He blinks, confused at what just happened. He looks down at the three bleeding claw-marks in his chest and sees they are not too deep. He will be fine. He gets slowly to his feet and starts off. He should get home and get something on those cuts, just to make sure they don't get infected. He hardly makes it fifty yards. The real pain hits.

It hits him like a thousand blaster-bolts at once. It hits him from all directions. The next thing he knows, he is doubled over in agony. He feels like his chest is one fire, and the fire spreads through his veins every second. It burns his blood like gasoline. It wraps around his throat like a serpent. It melts his heart like hot wax. He is choking, suffocating, convulsing in excruciation. He is screaming, but he can barely hear his own cries, as his throat closes up, and he can't breathe. He is on the ground, withering like a worm in the sun. The sun above him burns him. The sand beneath him burns him. The poison inside him burns him too. Within the next three minutes, he is dead.

"My Lord Sideous." Petiuit bowed low in front of a flickering, blue image of the Emperor.

"What news, general?" the Sith Lord's crackling voice answered coldly.

"I am on the desert planet Tatooine, my Lord, and I have heard… _disturbing_ rumors. Rumors of a moisture farmer linked to the name _Kenobi._ "

Anakin Skywalker felt his blood run cold. The room's temperature suddenly plummeted several degrees. What was once flesh became ice. What was once a heart became a barren gap in his ribcage. _Oh, no…_ was all he could think. Perhaps, it was the Force that allowed him to know this. Perhaps, it was just logic, or instinct. The connection between family. Whatever the reason, as soon as he heard the planet Tatooine and name Kenobi mentioned in the same sentence, he knew that was where Obi-Wan was hiding. Obi-Wan, Padmé, and his children. _Oh, no…_ Anakin Skywalker thought in helpless terror, as he watched this nightmare unfold before his eyes. _They've found them…_

"Kenobi?" repeated Emperor Palpatine. He and his apprentice were standing in the dreary throne room on Coruscant. It was dark outside, and the city glowed sinisterly outside the large glass-less window, which had never been repaired. (Apparently, Palpatine liked night to seep inside like black fluid.) He looked slowly away from the hologram of Petiuit, and cold, dark eyes fell upon Darth Vader.

Vader shook his head. "Impossible," he declared, settling the question. "Kenobi is dead. I killed him myself."

Palpatine thought in silence, still gazing steadily at his apprentice. "A body was never found, Lord Vader," he said at last, his voice heavy and grim.

"Of course, it wasn't," Vader agreed. "The body was burned to nothing in the lava."

Anakin's heart was pounding now, and anxiety was like a swarm of hornets in his gut. He focused as hard as he could, employing the Force to disguise his fear, trying to hide it from Palpatine, trying not to let the Sith sense how afraid he was, or how he was lying, and all the while trying to keep on a passive expression and the mask of Darth Vader.

"Unless it did not kill him," Palpatine said gravely.

"I watched him fall in the lava, myself," Vader refuted through grinding teeth. Anger was rising in his voice as he spoke. Anger was a useful mask for fear. "There is _no chance_ he could have survived that, Master."

"If it was anyone else," the Emperor nodded, "I would agree with you. However, Kenobi was a Jedi, and Jedi have an unfortunate tendency of reappearing when you least expect it." In bitter sarcasm, he added, "…sometimes, it seems, they even return from the _dead._ Especially Kenobi."

Anakin swallowed the large knot forming in his throat, threatening to impair his voice-cords and his already-damaged airways. It was getting harder to breathe. He reached into the Force and trusted it to help him stay calm, even though he wanted to panic. Even though he wanted to leap into action and _do something._ Even though he wanted to forget everything he promised the Rebellion and draw his lightsaber and kill Palpatine now and then race to Tatooine and kill Petiuit and save his family before it was too late. Instead, he trusted the Force to help him keep a clear head. To keep breathing. He stood in silence and watched Emperor Palpatine turn to address the general once more.

"This… _moisture farmer_ you speak of. Who is he? What is he like?"

"I haven't seen him, myself, yet, my Lord. However, the townspeople says he is called 'Ben.' They say he keeps to himself mostly, and they say he has a family. A wife and two children."

 _No…_ Anakin thought, his distress deepening by the second, overwhelming and starting to drown him. _Padmé, Luke, and Leia…_

Palpatine raised his brow, surprised at this last bit of information. "Children?" he repeated, clearly not expecting this. Again, his eyes flickered to Vader, who immediately shook his head.

"That can't be him," he persisted in denial. "Kenobi was never courageous enough to challenge the Code of the Jedi, or intelligent enough to think for himself. He would not have broken the Code. He would have honored his vows of celibacy."

Palpatine nodded. "I think you're right, Lord Vader," he agreed, and Anakin tried to be discrete as he sighed in relief. "Kenobi was too… _brainwashed_ by the Jedi to disobey them, or even question them. It is a pity, because he would have been very valuable to us had he turned to the Dark Side. But no matter. Kenobi is dead. Darth Vader killed him himself. I do not think this _moisture farmer_ is a threat to us. However, just to be certain…" He turned and looked Anakin in the eye. "I want you to go to Tatooine, Lord Vader, and make sure this man is not Kenobi."

Anakin let his breath out in a soft sigh, which he disguised by bowing to the Emperor. "With pleasure, Master," he replied, and he did not have to pretend to be glad. Anakin had not been this glad since he left Alderaan. The fact that _he_ was going to investigate not only meant Obi-Wan and his family would be completely safe, but it also meant he would get to see Padmé and his children for the first time in three years. Anakin could hardly contain his joy.

But it turned cold and plummeted into darkness at the Emperor's next order:

"In the mean time, General Petiuit, take as many clones as you need and investigate the farm yourself. If you find anything that could link this man to the Jedi, arrest him and bring him to me… and his family, as well. If not, report back to me, and we will let Lord Vader deal with them when he arrives."

"Yes, Lord Sideous," Petiuit answered without question, bowing low in submission.

Darth Vader remained silent, and his face remained indifferent; however, Anakin Skywalker was screaming the most vile curse-words he knew in his head. _I need to warn Obi-Wan!_ his mind cried in panic, again and again. _I need to warn them! I need to get there and save them! Now!_

"Very well, Master," Darth Vader said abruptly, even though Palpatine was opening his mouth to say more. He bowed hastily and started to back away. "I won't waste another minute then. I'll set out for Tatooine immediately."

"I—" Palpatine started to say, no doubt lingering on whatever it was he was _going to say_ but was not given the chance to, but then he decided whatever it was, was not very important, and agreed instead, "Yes. Make haste, Lord Vader. And taken caution. Although Kenobi is most likely dead, do not be certain. I sense in the Force, a great deal _more_ involving the Jedi is happening than we are yet aware."

Vader nodded once and went out, and Anakin did not even take the time to smirk at the irony of the Emperor's last comment. He was too afraid for that. He walk a fast pace down the first corridor, but as soon as he turned the corner he started to run. By the time he made it to his ship parked outside the building, he was sprinting as fast as his derasteal legs would carry him. He ripped his communicator out of his pocket as he jumped into the pilot seat—something for which the Base would have been _very displeased_ with him, since it was possible someone could have seen him—and he sent an emergency contact signal to Alderaan.

"Skywalker?"

"They know Obi-Wan is on Tatooine!" Anakin practically screamed into the communicator. He did not bother to ask whether or not Obi-Wan was really on Tatooine. He already knew. "Troops are going to arrest him now!"

"We'll warn him immediately," the voice replied urgently. "Are you going with them?"

"I'm on my way, but others will be there first. They're already on the planet!" At this point, Anakin's ship was in the air and speeding off toward Tatooine.

"We're trying to contact him now."

"Hurry!" Anakin ordered. He was past the point of trying to be respectful, or of trying to make them trust him, or of trying to redeem himself of his past sins. Right now, the only thing he was trying to do was protect the people he loved. "Tell them to get out of there _as fast as they can!_ Tell them to get off the planet!"

There was a brief hesitation from the other side. Someone finally spoke in a nervous voice. "We're not getting a signal."

" _What!?"_ Anakin's heart lurched so fiercely it felt like it would rip straight through his chest. His panic doubled. He could feel tears prickling at his eyes.

"Sometimes it's hard to make contact with the Outer Rim…"

"Kriff!" Anakin screamed. " _Kriff!_ " He slammed his hand against the control-yoke with such brutal force, if his arm was not made of metal several bones would have broken.

"We're still trying," the voice, which now sounded afraid for Obi-Wan as well as afraid of Darth Vader, said softly. "Just get there as fast as you can. We'll keep trying to contact Kenobi, and we'll send help to Tatooine."

"You better!" Anakin roared in fury. "He could be _killed_ if you don't warn him! They all could! Have you any _idea_ what the Emperor will do to him if he gets his hands on him!? Obi-Wan would be _lucky_ if they killed him!"

Holy Force. Anakin did not even want to _think_ about what they would do to Obi-Wan if they caught him. Palpatine would kill him for sure, but not right away. He would torture him first. He would torture him in the most demeaning, humiliating, brutal, terrible, _painful_ ways possible. He would torture him until Obi-Wan spilt every last secret about the Jedi and the Rebellion. But Obi-Wan would never talk. So Palpatine would torture him to death. And Anakin would have to stand there and bite his tongue and _watch._ He would do nothing and watch Palpatine torture his brother to death. And what about Padmé and the children? Would Palpatine hurt them too? Would Palpatine _kill_ them?

No! Anakin would not let that happen! He would not let _any of this_ happen! He'd kill Palpatine before he let it happen. He'd kill all of them. Damn the Rebellion. He would let the whole thing fail before he let anyone touch his family.

"Troops are taking off now," the rebel at the Base informed Anakin. "They're also trying to contact Kenobi. They should be in range to get a single soon."

"I hope…" Anakin muttered back. His voice was no longer angry, but weak and afraid. He was terrified. His heart was pounding, his lungs heaving, and his body shaking, because he knew, in his heart, he would be too late.

It would be too late. They would warn Obi-Wan soon, but it would not be soon enough. It was never soon enough. No matter what anyone did, it was never enough. He would try to get to Tatooine to save his family, but he wouldn't get there in time. He would be too late. Just as he was too late when he tried to save his mother. Now—he could not bear even to _think_ it, but, no matter how hard he tried, he could not force the horrible thought from his mind—he was going to lose his brother, his wife, and his babies. Then he would have nothing left.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you all so, so much for reading! And thank you _tons_ everyone whose left reviews or feedback. Every time I get a new message from one of you, it truly makes my day! Thanks also for follows, favorites, etc. It really means so much to me! I couldn't do it without you! **

**Sorry it's taken me a while to update. So, here's a nice, long chapter to make it up to you! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter XIII

Under the twin suns of Tatooine, a humble moisture farmer was pumping warm water out of a sand-dusted Vaporator. A woman was inside the house, preparing supper for her family, and two children were playing quietly on the living room floor. At least, they were last time he checked. Apparently, the boy had gotten tired of their game, because, when he was in the middle of his work, he heard the high, youthful, innocent voice of a child call him name.

Or at least… the name he went by on Tatooine.

"Ben! _Ben!_ "

He looked up and saw the three-year-old running on unsteady legs across the desert sand, his blond curls bounding around his head, his large, blue eyes gleaming in the sunlight. The child hurried toward the man as fast as his little legs would allow, stumbling slightly and scattering sand.

A warm smile spread across his face. The same warmth—true happiness, which one can only know through unconditional love—swelled in his heart. He halted in the middle of his work, dropped everything he was doing, and jogged over to meet the child. "What's the matter, Luke?" Obi-Wan Kenobi said gently. The boy reached for him, a silent gesture children often use to say, _Pick me up,_ and Obi-Wan easily lifted him off the hot sand and into his arm. "What is it?" he asked, holding the boy on his hip.

"Luke!" a different child cried before Luke could answer. Obi-Wan looked up again, and this time it was a little girl with thick brown hair and dark chocolate eyes running toward them. Luke's twin sister, Leia.

Obi-Wan glanced at the house. Padmé was standing in the open doorway, looking out at her children. Their eyes met. He exchanged a brief smile with her and nodded. She gratefully returned the nod, and they came to the silent understanding that he would watch the kids, and she could go back to cooking.

Leia made it to Obi-Wan and immediately demanded he pick her up too. Within the next few seconds, Obi-Wan found himself holding two children in his arms, one on each side. "I thought you two were playing inside," said Obi-Wan, looking back and forth between the children as they clung to him.

"Come play with us," he was able to understand Luke's almost-unintelligible muttering. He and Padmé were the only who could ever understand Luke. In fact, there were often times when Obi-Wan could understand him, when even their mother couldn't. There was unquestionably a special bond between this man and these children.

"We want you to come fly the speeder with us," said Leia, who was more advanced in speaking than her brother.

"I'm afraid I can't right now," Obi-Wan told them with a sigh. "I have work to do. Maybe, later."

"Later?" Luke repeated a bit absently. Although he was listening, he was also busying himself by running his little hands through the hair on Obi-Wan's face. That made the Jedi smile and chuckled softly.

"When?" asked Leia, who, in contrast to her brother, had not taken her eyes off Obi-Wan. She was staring very seriously into his eyes, as if this conversation was of _top_ importance.

"Tonight," he promised. Leia huffed and nodded. Luke nodded also, but he continued to play with Obi-Wan's beard, obvious of the fact he would actually have to go back to _working_ now.

"Come on," said Obi-Wan, gently detaching the children from their grip on him (Luke was reluctant to let Ben put him down) and lowering them to the ground. "You can help me pump the water."

Their faces lit up, and wide grins spread across their mouths. They looked up at Ben, nodding excitedly. Obi-Wan smiled down at them—it seemed it could never look at Luke or Leia _without_ smiling. "Great. I can use all the help I can get." He held out his hands, which Luke and Leia immediately grabbed and held onto. They walked together back to the Vaporator, Obi-Wan in the middle and one child on each side of him. Their hands were tiny, so fragile and precious, in his grasp.

He knew how lucky he was, how _blessed_ he was. Most Jedi never got to experience this joy. This joy of raising children, of _loving_ children, and of children loving you in return. It was, he had no doubt, the best thing that ever happened to him. Out of the darkness, always comes the light. After every night, comes the day. After every storm, comes the sun.

"Don't touch the Vaporator, because it gets hot from being in the sun; it will burn you," Obi-Wan told the toddlers as they reached the device. Leia nodded seriously, and Luke looked nervously at the large machine before him. "I need you to hold the bucket for me. Hold it still, but keep it on the ground, because it'll get too heavy for you to carry. Understand?"

"We understand," said Leia, excited and confident. She eagerly took hold of the bucket, which was almost as tall as she was, and, following her lead, Luke did the same. They held it in death-grips, straining their feeble muscles in attempt to keep it still… unaware that their efforts were of absolutely _no help_ to Obi-Wan and that the bucket was not going to move whether they held onto it or not.

"Great, good job," said Obi-Wan. He resumed pumping water, a job which require a lot of physical strength, _far_ more than these children would be able to muster even together, and Luke and Leia squirmed and giggled as droplets of water escaped the bucket and sprayed them. Although the kids were not really helping him with the water, Obi-Wan was enjoying their company. Just being with them filled him with joy he never knew before… joy he never knew before he had a family.

The man and children were smiling and talking happily together, going from Vaporator to Vaporator, collecting water in buckets, and dumping it all into a storage cistern, until Luke started staring curiously across the desert. " _Luke,_ you're not holding it tight enough!" Leia groaned bossily at her brother.

Luke ignored her. Instead of replying, he pointed a finger across the hot dunes and said, "Ben, who are those people over there?"

Obi-Wan looked up. The smile disappeared from his lips. Any trace of joy on his face or in his eyes was gone. His face was like stone, and his eyes were like ice. He let go of the Vaporator pump and rose to his full height. He stared gravely at the visitors: several clones and an Imperial general, pointedly marching toward them.

"Luke, Leia, go inside," Obi-Wan said in a firm, cold tone that made the children uneasy. "Go inside and find your mother."

The children did not obey right away. They stared nervously up at Ben, who was not looking at them but still gazing at the strangers. He had not taken his eyes off of them.

"Why?" Leia asked boldly.

Obi-Wan did not answer.

"Ben?" Luke whispered tentatively. He stepped closer to Obi-Wan and started tugging at his leg. "Ben, who are those people?"

"Did you hear me!?" Obi-Wan snapped, turning suddenly to look at the children in a way that made them cower in fear. "I said, go inside! Now!"

Not even Leia dared to disobey. Ben hardly ever got angry. He hardly ever yelled at them. So, when he did, it made both of them afraid. And the children were not sure they had ever seen Ben quite like this before. They could not quite tell what it was (they were still too young, and their relationship with the Force had not matured yet), but they could tell something was _off._ Something was _wrong._ They could feel Obi-Wan's emotions—it was hard to recognize exactly what he was feeling, but whatever it was was tense and uncomfortable, like a rope tied up inside of them—building up in their own chests and stomachs, making Leia very scared and making Luke want to cry. Without a word or protest, he turned his back and ran toward the house. A second later, Leia did the same. Obi-Wan watched to make sure they got inside. He watched the door close behind them. Then he turned to face the Empire.

"Is there a problem?" Obi-Wan said in a voice as stony as his face (and a voice that no longer hosted his usual Coruscanti accent). His thoughts were impossible to read—his years of Jedi training had paid off. The only thing clear was that he did not appreciate these men barging in on his home.

The general came forward several paces more until he was standing directly in front of this _moisture farmer._ "That depends, I suppose," the demon hissed in a voice like the callous wind of winter, "on whether or not _you_ cooperate."

The man's face did not change. It was impossible to guess what he was thinking, or feeling… even for this highly Force-sensitive general. It was almost as if there was some kind of _shield_ between the general's will and the farmer's mind, preventing Petiuit from reading his thoughts.

…That was a trick the _Jedi_ learned to prevent their enemies from penetrating their minds.

"If I _cooperate?"_ he repeated, unamused and unintimidated. "Cooperate with what?"

"Tell me this," Petiuit said, a bit annoyed that the man did not seem to fear him. He took a step closer to the farmer, so he could see the fangs in his mouth and the blood on his teeth, and so he was breathing poison straight into his face. Obi-Wan did not even flinch. He did not recoil. He did not even look worried. "Does the name _Kenobi_ mean anything to you?"

Kenobi did not react. Not a thought could be seen on his face or in his eyes. A moment passed, and he frowned slightly. "Kenobi?" he echoed, as if hearing the name for the first time. "I…" He paused, apparently having to think about it. He shook his head. "I do not believe so."

"Or perhaps, this name," Petiuit spat in frustration, " _Obi-Wan Kenobi."_

"Ah, yes," the farmer recalled. His voice was unreadable. "He was a Jedi Knight, wasn't he?"

"A Jedi Master," Petiuit corrected, but the detail didn't seem to make a difference to the moisture farmer, who frowned and replied flatly, "I thought he was dead."

"That is… still to be determined," the general answered. He fell silent and looked the man up and down, sizing him up, trying to make him feel uncomfortable and _vulnerable,_ eyeing him as if deciding whether or not to sink his fangs into him and infect him with lethal venom that would kill him in less than five minutes. He parted his mouth to show him his teeth. He breathed out in a low growl to blow toxic air directly into his face. Sometimes torture is not necessary. Fear, itself, is a useful tool to make people talk. Petiuit was trying to intimidate him, trying to making him fear for his life, trying to make him crack…

The man did not even appear uneasy. He did not even act as if he noticed the venom dripping between the creature's jaws, or the poison starting to burn his skin. He had a lot of guts for a "moisture farmer."

"There are rumors," the general explained. "Rumors that _you_ are somehow linked to Kenobi… and to the Jedi."

"There are rumors that _my family_ is linked to the Jedi?" The moisture farmer chuckled faintly, as if the very suggestion amused him. "I can assure you: there are no Jedi here. And there are no relations between my family and Obi-Wan Kenobi. We are just farmers."

It was now that the comlink in Obi-Wan's pocket finally began to vibrate, transmitting the emergency alert signal. _Too late, Anakin,_ he thought with a silent sigh. _Good try._

Petiuit smirked at him. "We'll see."

The general looked over his shoulder and nodded to the troops behind him. Then, over a dozen clones were marching toward the house… toward Padmé and the children. Obi-Wan's heart dropped. He rushed past the general, disregarding that the beast could poison him in less than a second, and ran to get there first. He jumped in front of the doorway just before they got there, and he stood courageously—maybe, unwisely—before the clones, blocking their entry.

"We are going to search your home," Petiuit said callously, slowly—but threateningly—approaching the farmer again. "If you resist my command, then you resist the Empire, which is _treason._ "

The muscles in Obi-Wan cheeks visibly tensed, as his jaws clamped together. He drew in a careful breath. The general could see he was considering this scrupulously, weighing his options, reluctant to resist but even more reluctant to yield. Trying to decide which would give his family a better chance of survival. He did not answer.

"Besides," Petiuit went on, getting up in Obi-Wan face once more, "if you really have nothing to hide, as you say, there should be no problem.

Obi-Wan glared silently at the general—this… _demon._ This snake. He wondered how many innocent people the monster had killed since he arrived on Tatooine. "There is no problem," he said tonelessly. Without a word, he turned his back on the general (something most people would not have dared), took a deep breath, trusted the Force, and opened the door. He went in first, but the general and the clones poured in right behind him, practically trampling him as they descended the stairs and charged into the under-ground home.

Obi-Wan said nothing as they stormed his house like pirates on a raid. They scattered into every room and ripped the place apart. They threw open doors, dug through cabinets and closets, flung belongings onto the floor, knocked over furniture, overturned tables, broke glass vases and some of Padmé's most prized possessions, things Anakin gave her before everything in their life went wrong.

Obi-Wan went straight to Padmé's bedroom, where he knew she and the children were waiting in terror. Padmé's racing heart halted in its tracks as the door opened, and then it sighed in relief as Obi-Wan entered instead of Imperial troops. Then it stopped again as clones poured in behind him.

Padmé was standing in the corner, protectively clutching Luke and Leia at her sides. She pulled them closer to her and held them tighter, when the clones entered. Yet, she could not protect them. She could die trying, but she could not protect her children against the Empire. Padmé's wide, frightened eyes darted to stare at the only hope of protecting this family: Obi-Wan.

Her deep brown eyes met eyes of clear blue. Obi-Wan face was solemn, but somehow the look in his eyes was calm. _It'll be alright,_ she could practically hear him telling her, although he said not a word aloud. _Everything will be alright. I promise._

Obi-Wan went immediately toward Padmé and the children, so he could stand in front of them and guard them as the clones tore their home into pieces—

"Hold it!" a clone officer barked before he was half way across the room.

Obi-Wan stopped. He frowned and crossed his arms as he turned to face the officer. "Yes?"

The faceless white mask stared at him. It was impossible to guess what the man beyond that helmet was thinking, but he stared at Obi-Wan so long, it was clear he was thinking _very carefully._

 _No!_ thought Padmé in dismay. _They recognize him…_

"Search him for weapons," the officer ordered the other clones.

Padmé's heart dropped. Obi-Wan always carried his lightsaber. She was sure it was hidden inside his clothing now. They would find it. They would realize he was a Jedi. And then… she did not know what would happen then…

Obi-Wan would fight for them. That was certain, but Padmé was not certain it would be enough. If he was alone, she was sure, he would defeat them all. He had defeated near-armies of droids by himself (though human soldiers were not as easy to behead as droids) in the Clone Wars. Padmé had faith in him. He was a great Jedi—one of the greatest Jedi who ever lived. In her mind, second only to Anakin. However, as outnumbered as he was, would he be able to defeat all of the clones, avoid being shot by all of those blasters, _and_ defend not only himself but also Padmé, Luke, and Leia?

Padmé did not doubt Obi-Wan's skill, or his steadfast courage, or his selfless loyalty—she knew he would sacrifice himself for any of them, if he could—but she could not help but doubt. She doubted all of them would make it out of this alive.

"Yes, sir," several troops answered at once, and, at the same time, three of them surrounded Obi-Wan.

"Put your hands up," the officer snapped, and when Obi-Wan did not rush to obey, they stabbed him in the ribs with a blaster.

Obi-Wan stifled a grunt, as sharp pain tore through his side. Ouch. That was going to leave a bruise. He glared at the clone in front of him. Slowly, grudgingly, he raised his hands above his head, allowing them to search him. Six hands seized him at once, roughly handling his body, probably _trying_ to hurt him as they patted (or more like, _pounded_ ) him down with armored palms.

Padmé watched in silent terror as violent hands got closer and closer to the pocket where Obi-Wan kept his lightsaber…

 _No… No…_ was Padmé's desperate prayer. _Please…_

Like Padmé, any normal man would have been panicking now, but Obi-Wan Kenobi was perfectly calm. They were going to make it out alive. All of them were. He did not think this, he _knew_ it. Because although they appeared alone, they were not. The Force was with the Jedi. He could feel it. Surrounding him, encircling him, wrapping around him like a warm blanket, washing over him like clear water, passing through him like golden sunlight, filling him, possessing him, _becoming_ him. The man and the Force were one.

The clone on Obi-Wan's left side quickly felt the metal object hidden under his clothes and dove his hand deep into the man's pocket. His fist gripped the cold hilt of a lightsaber. He opened his mouth to alert the general, and he made to withdraw the Jedi weapon out into the open—

And suddenly, he realized that probably wasn't a good idea. He should put it back. After all, this _was_ the farmer's personal possession, and he was sure it was not a weapon. He was sure it was nothing dangerous. He was sure it was nothing important. In fact, he was sure it was nothing at all. A few seconds later, he did not remember finding the thing in the first place. He never found it. He had searched the man's pockets, and he had found them empty.

The other troops were too preoccupied searching Obi-Wan—and too intent on leaving as many scratches and bruises as possible all over his body—to notice the slight movement of the man's left hand, the slight shifting of his fingers, the way his palm (which was, conveniently, already raised over Obi-Wan's head) stretched open in the clone's direction, or the way he channeled the Force to enter the clone's mind and influence it. Nobody noticed the simple mind-trick this Jedi Master learned when he was a Youngling. Nobody expect Padmé. She let out her breath, which until now she did not realize she was holding.

"He is unarmed, sir," the clones reported to their officer once they were satisfied with Obi-Wan. (Somehow, they had managed to overlook the comlink in his pocket as well. How odd.) The officer nodded curtly and left the room, while the other clones swarmed about the place like a plague of locus, destroying everything they touched.

As soon as they released him, Obi-Wan went straight to Padmé. "Obi—" she started to breathe in a terrified whisper (in her panic, she called him this out of habit, forgetting the mortal danger of using such a name), but she caught herself and said instead, "Ben, what's going on?"

Obi-Wan positioned himself in front of Padmé and the children, his body the sole barrier between the Emperor's troops and his family. He stood very close to her, closer than he would usually be comfortable with—when he leaned in to whisper to her, their foreheads were nearly touching—but, at the moment, he did not care. "Apparently there are rumors about a Jedi called Kenobi," he muttered, soft enough that only she could hear him, but safe enough that they would not be found out and arrested if anyone else did. "They think he is linked to our family."

Padmé stared at Obi-Wan with wide, terror-filled eyes. His voice was grim, and his face was somber, but, to her utter amazement, he was—somehow—still calm. _I'll be okay, Padmé,_ she could _hear_ Obi-Wan's gentle, soothing voice promising her, even though he was not opening his mouth, even though he was not speaking a word. She could hear his words in her heart. _Everything will be alright. I promise._

"Tell me, farmer," a wickedly thrilled voice spoked from behind them. Obi-Wan's gut clenched, and Padmé's skin prickled with goosebumps. He turned his back to Padmé and looked across the room as General Petiuit entered through the door.

Obi-Wan did not hesitate. Immediately, he went forward to meet the general, leaving Padmé and the children alone in the corner, unprotected from the clones. However, Obi-Wan and Petiuit met in the middle of the room, which was what he wanted. He wanted to keep this monster as far away from his family as possible.

"Why are there _three_ bedrooms in your home?" Petiuit questioned, looking very satisfied with himself, as if he caught a thief in the act of stealing, or a liar in the act of lying. A traitor in the act of treason.

In return, Obi-Wan's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"There are three bedrooms," he repeated. "One clearly belongs to the children. This room—" He glanced around at the feminine decoration. "—clearly belongs to your wife. The third room, however, is the room of a _man._ "

A few months into living together, Padmé finally persuaded Obi-Wan to stop sleeping on the couch and get a room of his own. His room was undecorated and bland. The walls were the dull tan color of the desert sand; the wooden floorboards were bare expect for sprinkles of sand he carried in on his clothes; the bed sheets were white, or grey, or light brown (it just depended on what was clean that week); there was a wooden dresser with a lamp on top of it; and beyond this there was no orientation. Jedi were not allowed to have possessions. Jedi were not aloud to have luxurious lives. The Jedi lived simply and modestly. Although now, while Obi-Wan was still (technically) a Jedi, he could have easily gotten away with a more pleasured life-style, this was what he was used to. This was what he wanted.

There was really nothing in his room to bluntly declare it belonged to a man. All of the rooms in the Jedi Temple were practically identical, regardless of whether their inhabitant was male or female, and Obi-Wan's room on Tatooine was very similar to the Temple rooms. Obi-Wan supposed they tore apart his dresser and found that it contained men's garments. (They were starting with Padmé's wardrobe now.) Or perhaps, the general was simply able to sense it in the Force. Obi-Wan could tell the creature was strong with the Force. He was a Sith. He just hadn't been trained. Yet.

"And the man slept in that bed last night," Petiuit went on, and he smiled darkly as he added, " _Alone._ "

Obi-Wan frowned at him. "I'm not quite sure what you're getting at," he said flatly, even though he knew _exactly_ what the general was getting at, and it was a mistake Obi-Wan did not even realize he had made until now. Thus, he was not prepared with an explanation.

"You and your… _wife_ do not sleep in the same bed," he said bluntly. It was suddenly clear the general was beginning to doubt whether this woman was really his wife, whether these children were really his offspring, whether he was really a father at all. "In fact, you don't even sleep in the same _room._ Do you not think that is a bit… unnatural?"

Obi-Wan did not know how to answer that. His face did not change. He gazed evenly at the general, his eyebrows angled seriously over glaring eyes, his thoughts unreadable. At last, he spoke in a low tone, "What exactly are you suggesting?"

Petiuit's gaze cut like a blade into the Jedi's eyes, searching them for any sign of deceit. "Are you Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi looked straight back into black, inhumane eyes and answered calmly, "No."

Petiuit searched his face for several seconds longer, trying to determine if that was true. It was no use. Staring into the Jedi's eyes was like staring at a stone wall. He could see nothing beyond them. No readable thought, no sign of deceit, and no sign of the truth. He could not see beyond the Force.

Fine. If he could not intimidate this man by threatening his life, perhaps he could intimidate him by threatening his family. Perhaps, that would make him talk.

Petiuit looked away from Obi-Wan. He turned his head and cast his gaze on the woman and the children. Padmé recoiled, backing farther into the corner and pushing Luke and Leia behind her to protect them. A lascivious gleam appeared in Petiuit's eyes. He looked the woman up and down, inspecting her in a way that made Obi-Wan's gut twist. His jaws clenched. Already, while the general had done nothing but _look_ at her, fear was building up inside his chest. Fear… and _anger._ Obi-Wan had never felt anger quite like this before…

"Is this your family?" Petiuit asked calmly, but he did not hide the malice in his voice. The desire for blood as well as for flesh. Lust.

"This is my wife and our two children," the farmer answered rigidly, his voice cold and dangerous. This time, it was Obi-Wan whose tone and expression and disgusted glare was threatening. Forbidding this creature to even _think_ about touching any one of them.

Petiuit, however, was not afraid. He was glad. He was thrilled, because he knew he had finally found the man's weakness. Perhaps, this really was his family, after all. He obviously loved them.

"Your wife is very pretty," he sneered, inspecting Padmé like she was a whore at a brothel. "What's her name?"

"Satine," Obi-Wan lied sharply, just using the first name that popped into his head. Every second, Petiuit could hear the anger rising in his voice. Good. That was what he wanted.

Something hideous that vaguely resembled a smile—the smile of a demon—appeared on Petiuit's serpentine lips. He moved past Obi-Wan and started toward the woman. "Hello, Satine," he practically whispered. He looked her up and down, and it was hard to tell if he wanted to love her, or if he wanted to sink his teeth into her smooth, soft skin and taste her blood… Perhaps, both things were equally pleasurable to the fiend.

Padmé shifted uncomfortably as he got closer. She pushed Luke and Leia, who had wrapped their little arms around her legs and were clinging to her desperately, back further, and the children were pressed against the wall. Her heart was going crazy, her lungs heaving, her body trembling. The alien was getting closer—

Obi-Wan threw himself in front of her. He had made a reckless dash past Petiuit and flung himself between the demon and the family. He aware of the danger, but he was prepared to die for them if that was what it took to keep them safe.

Padmé let out a sound like the gasp of a woman who had just been saved from drowning. Her hand closed around Obi-Wan's arm, and she held onto him, clutching him like a lifeline. Indeed, this Jedi was the only thing that stood between Padmé, Padmé's children, and death.

Obi-Wan stayed in front of her, his arms outstretched by his sides to further guard and protect her, and the general's poisonous jaws hovering only a few inches away from his face. He glared at Petiuit, fury boiling in his eyes. Fury, wrath, _hatred_ burning like hell in his soul _._ Even after all of his years of training, even after being named the exemplary Jedi, even though he knew these things lead to the Dark Side, Obi-Wan could not repress his anger.

"Stay away from her," he breathed in a tone murderous enough to chill a man to the bone. For a moment, even General Petiuit was frightened. "Stay away from all of them."

The general looked straight back into his eyes, and they were in stand off, face to face, each of them refusing to stand down. "I will not harm your family," he said calmly. "I promise you. As long as you answer me _honestly._ Tell the truth, and I swear no harm will come to your family." He asked very slowly, "Are you Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

The farmer looked him directly in the eye. "I am _not._ "

"Are you a Jedi?"

"No!"

"And you have no relations with the Rebellion?"

"None _whatsoever._ "

Even through the Force-shield the Jedi was using to conceal his thought and feelings, Petiuit could feel his anger. He could feel his fear. His utter terror of losing his family. Petiuit believed this man was too frightened to lie. He sighed, disappointed.

"Fine," he growled. He turned his back on Obi-Wan Kenobi. "We're finished here," the general barked at his troops. "Move out."

Obi-Wan remained like a statue before the family, as the clones filed out of the room after their commander. Once they were gone, it seemed they had enough room to breathe again, and Obi-Wan let out a slow breath. He went silently across the room and stood in the open doorway, looking out into the rest of the house. He watched the clones ascend the staircase and disappear from his home. He heard the door close behind them. They were gone.

Obi-Wan and Padmé sighed at the same time, their breath heavy and audible, almost like gasps of relief. Immediately, Obi-Wan turned around to see his family and rushed into the room to see them. "Padmé," he cried, struggling to control the worry in his voice, "is everyone alright?"

"I'm okay," Padmé whimpered. She turned and to look down at her babies. "Are you alright? You're both alright? Luke, Leia…" They were terrified, and Luke was crying, but they were not hurt. Padmé sighed in relief.

Obi-Wan went past Padmé and kneeled down in front of the children. "Let me look at you," he said quietly, taking the kids by their shoulders and making them face him. One hand on Luke's cheek and the other on Leia's, Obi-Wan examined them both with frantic eyes, searching for any scratch or bruise or sign of injury… There was nothing he could notice. "Look at me," he ordered them. "Are either of you hurt? Luke? Leia?"

They were still terrified, but they were not hurt. They shook their heads.

Relief washed over Obi-Wan like sweet, cleansing waters, washing away his fear. He sighed and pulled the children toward him, locking them in a tight embrace. He hugged them, Luke on one shoulder and Leia on the other, cradling them against him as they clung to him, and Obi-Wan was a little reluctant to let them go. He closed his eyes, forcing down emotion as it rose rapidly inside of him, like water being poured into a jug. _Attachment is forbidden_ , the Jedi reminded the moisture farmer _._ _Love is forbidden._ Nonetheless, Obi-Wan kissed each of the children on the head before he released them and rose to his feet.

He heaved another sigh, exhaling the tension that was expanding inside of him since the Imperial troops arrived. He turned to Padmé. "Are you sure you're alright?" he said evenly.

She nodded and stepped closer to him. "Yes, but are you? Did they hurt you? Did they— Oh, my gosh! It _burned_ you! Let me see—" Padmé reached out to touch Obi-Wan cheek, where the creature's venomous breath started to cook his skin. The beginnings of a gruesome rash, dark and rust-colored, already starting to blister, was coming up on his face.

Before Padmé could touch him, Obi-Wan backed away. "I'm fine," he dismissed. "Don't worry about me."

Padmé was worried. She was on the verge of panicking. "Ben, that… _thing_ was poisonous! You could be really hurt; you need to see a healer!"

He shook his head. "Those aliens are from some regions of the Outer Rim," the Jedi explained, and Padmé was relieved that he knew something about the fearsome creature… until he went on, "and they're very lethal. If their poison enters your bloodstream, it will kill you in less than five minutes. However, it would have to physically puncture the skin, and it didn't. I'll be fine."

"But what if—" Padmé started to say, but Obi-Wan's comlink vibrated again, and he withdrew it from his pocket and answered it (right in front of Padmé and the kids, which was something he usually never did).

"Yes?" Obi-Wan said tensely into his comlink.

"General Kenobi! Thank the Force! We've been trying to contact you! You need to hurry! Imperial troops are on their way to—"

"Yes, I know, they've already been here. They're gone now."

"They're gone?" the rebel repeated.

"Yes, they just left."

"Is anyone hurt? Should we send a medical pod?"

"No, we are all fine."

They could hear him sign in relief. "Troops are on the way now, sending aid, if…"

"That will be unnecessary," said Obi-Wan. He went into another room as he continued to speak to the rebels, leaving Padmé alone with the children. She looked around her room and sighed.

"Look at this mess," she muttered softly. Luke and Leia watched in silence, as their mother started about the room, picking things up off the floor and putting them back in place. She was already disheartened by what they had done to her house, but her heart cracked a little more when she found a glass vase shattered on the floor. It had been a gift from Anakin.

"Oh, no…" she whispered sadly. She bent down and started to pick up the broken pieces. Her hands trembled slightly. She could feel a knot forming in her throat. She blinked her eyes hard to keep herself from crying. It was silly, she knew. It was only a vase. It could be replaced. She should simply be grateful that her children were not hurt, that she and Obi-Wan were still alive, and, of course, she was. But at the same time… she could not help but feel very sad. This was a gift from Anakin, her husband whom she had not seen in three years. It was one of the last pieces of him she still had to hold onto. And, now, even that was gone.

"Padmé…"

Padmé looked up and saw Obi-Wan standing in the doorway. She rose to her feet. "What's wrong?" she asked at once, her voice hitching in fear. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was uneasy.

Obi-Wan answered flatly, "Anakin's coming."

Padmé stared at him. Shocked. No. It couldn't be! She must have misunderstood…

"Anakin!?" she exclaimed. She was suddenly rushing across the room to meet Obi-Wan at the entrance. "He's coming _here!?_ "

Obi-Wan nodded once. "He's on his way now."

Padmé let out a cry of astonishment and delight, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, my God! When!? When will he be here!?"

"Soon," Obi-Wan answered expressionlessly. Padmé was too elated to notice, Obi-Wan was not at all enthused by this upcoming visit. He was skeptical, and he was worried. He did not think this was a good idea. There were too many risks. It was dangerous for Anakin to see his family; it was dangerous for the children to see their father; it was dangerous for all of them. It was dangerous, because if the Emperor found out the truth about his survival, even if it was years from now, he would know Anakin let him get away. He would know Anakin betrayed him.

All of Padmé's distress was suddenly gone. All of her fear and worry and sadness was replaced by sheer joy. Obi-Wan had not seen her this happy in ages. In fact, he was not sure he had _ever_ seen Padmé this happy. She bustled around the house in ecstasy, rushing to make the place presentable for Anakin, cleaning things up, trying finish dinner so it would be ready when he got there. She was like a new woman, completely transfigured. Her smile beamed like the sun, and her face glowed like the face of an angel. As she ran about the house, telling her child again and again that Daddy was coming home, Padmé looked more beautiful than ever. She was more beautiful than any woman Obi-Wan had seen in his life.

"I'll take care of the house, Padmé," Obi-Wan told her, because he knew she would never be able to finish dinner in time for Anakin if she tried to clean first. She thanked him graciously and rushed into the kitchen. He was left cleaning by himself… well, not completely by himself, because Luke and Leia stayed with him and helped by picking things off the floor and, instead of putting them back where they belonged, handing them to Ben. Despite his uneasiness, Obi-Wan smiled at the children.

"Ben…" Leia said thoughtfully, as she handed him a pillow and he put it back on the couch.

"Yes, Leia?"

"Who is our daddy?"

A look of sadness Obi-Wan appeared in his eyes, as he turned his head to gaze at the child. "Leia," he said softly, "you don't remember your father?"

She looked up, and large brown eyes that looked so much like Padmé's stared straight into Obi-Wan's. She looked confused. "Aren't you are daddy, Ben?"

Obi-Wan stomach clenched. "No, Leia, I am not your daddy," he said quickly. "I'm just…" He was not exactly sure what to call himself. Your friend? No, that didn't seem right. He was more than that to them, and they were more than that to him. In fact, the child was right. Obi-Wan was like their father. "…I'm your uncle," he decided. "Your father is my brother."

"Oh," said Leia. She seemed to understand.

"Where is daddy?" an unexpected (and unclear) voice asked from the other side of the room. Obi-Wan turned to see Luke, who was bending down in the corner, busy picking sand up off of the floor. Obi-Wan did not know he had even been listening. "Why isn't daddy here?"

"Your daddy wants to be here with you," Obi-Wan answered tensely (this conversation was making him very uncomfortable; he wished they had asked Padmé instead of him). "He loves you very much. But he has to be away for now."

"Because of the war," said Leia.

Obi-Wan sighed and answered quietly, "Yes, Leia. Because of the war."

She nodded. "Here, Ben." She handed him another pillow.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan muttered vaguely, but his mind was preoccupied with other thoughts. He continued to work in silence for a few minutes, before he realized Luke had not said anything for a while and glanced across the room to check on him. "Luke, that's glass! Don't touch that!" Obi-Wan panicked. The child was bending down to pick up the broken pieces of a glass cup. He rushed over to the boy and picked him up, quickly getting him away from the glass. "Let me see your hands," he commanded, once he put the child down a safe distance away.

Luke obeyed without a word, holding out his palms for Ben to examine. They were not cut or scratched—thank goodness. Obi-Wan quickly brushed them off, to make sure there was no glass on them, and then looked the boy in the eye. "Do not touch glass, Luke! Do understand? That's dangerous; it could cut you."

"I'm sorry, Ben," Luke muttered quietly, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Alright. Come over here and help your sister and me."

Luke nodded and followed him back to the couch, still lost in innocent contemplation. Luke was always a bit of a daydreamer. He was always in his own world of childhood, thinking about stories he had heard or read, imagining adventures beyond the boarders of Tatooine's callous deserts. So, Obi-Wan should not have been surprised when, out of the blue, the child looked up at him and asked, "Ben? What's a Jedi?"

* * *

 **Note about the chapter:**

 **For those of you who were wondering, yes, there was a brief reference to Satine Kryze from "The Clones Wars" TV series. For those of you who got the reference, great. If you haven't seen "Clone Wars," no worries, because it doesn't matter at all.**

 **Or, if you've seen "Moulin Rouge," staring Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman, that works too. ;)**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello, everyone. There seems to be a bit of concern arising about Obi-Wan and Padmé getting too close. I can promise you, this is NOT going to turn into an Obi-Wan/Padmé love story. Padmé is** _ **not**_ **going to cheat on Anakin or fall in love with Obi-Wan.**

 **However, as you can probably tell, Obi-Wan** _ **is**_ **starting to have feelings for Padmé. It might seem a little out-of-character (and I apologize if it does), but, to be realistic, I think a man in Obi-Wan's positon would start to have affections for her. They've been friends for ages; they've been through so much together, they've been living together for years, and they're raising two children together.**

 **HOWEVER, I can assure you, Obi-Wan is not going to let this go any further than _feelings._ He is a good man with high morals, and he is loyal to his friends. He respects Padmé as Anakin's wife, and, for that reason, he tries to ignore his feelings. As well as that fact that he is still a Jedi, and he wants to honor the Code. **

**I hope everyone will be okay with this, and I hope it will not discourage you from reading.**

 **Thanks again to everyone for being so awesome! Just to have people reading this and supporting me is incredible, and every time I get a review or message or favorite or follow, it makes my day! Thanks again.**

 **Without further delay, I hope you enjoy the next chapter. Sorry if it seems a little slow. Things are going to pick up again soon, I promise.**

* * *

 **Sworn to Darkness**

Chapter XIV

When Anakin was a nineteen-year-old padawan, he and Obi-Wan were assigned to be bodyguards for Senator Amidala. It was the first time Anakin had seen Padmé in ten years. He remembered getting in the ship with Obi-Wan to fly to Coruscant and almost hitting an asteroid twice, because he couldn't concentrate on flying. He remembered standing in that elevator, unable to contain his excitement or his nerves. He remembered being unable to stand still, and he remembered Obi-Wan telling him to calm down. He remembered feeling pure happiness, but, at the same time, being scared out of his wits.

Anakin felt the same way now.

He had not seen his wife or his children or his brother in three years, and he had no idea what to expect. He knew Padmé would run to him and hug him and kiss him and cling to him and cry on him, and he knew she would cry again when the time came for him to go. He knew Padmé would be waiting with a faithful and longing heart. But Luke and Leia…

His children. He did not know if they would even know who he was. He was sure they would not remember him. They were newborns the last time he saw them, which was _three years ago_. He did not know if they would warm up to him, or if they would love him, or if they would be afraid of him and hide behind Padmé. He did not even know if Obi-Wan would let him tell them that he was their father.

Obi-Wan.

That name was the one that made Anakin most afraid. He had talked to Obi-Wan several times over their comlinks since he left Alderaan; however, talking through static-ridden devices and talking to each other face to face was _completely_ different. Anakin did not know what it would be like to see his brother again. Was Obi-Wan still angry at him? Had he even began to forgive him? Were they brothers again? Were they friends? Or, were they merely allies? He did not know what Obi-Wan would do or say when he saw him. Anakin did not know what he would say to Obi-Wan either. _Thank you,_ he guessed. _Thank you for protecting my family._

Anakin had been notified by the Rebel Base, and he knew Padmé and the children were not harmed in the raid on their home. That was the greatest news he heard in three years. His eyes filled with tears when they told him this, and he struggled to keep his voice even for the rest of the conversation, which could not have gone better, because when it concluded, he was going to see his family again.

"There she is," Anakin said softly, as the planet of his birth appeared before him. He slammed the control-yoke forward, and the ship sped toward Tatooine. Within the next minute, he put the ship down in the middle of a barren desert. She had barely landed when Anakin popped open the cockpit and leaped out of the ship.

Black boots sunk into the scorching desert sand, and Anakin took off running. The air was thick and hard to breathe. The heat of two suns bore down on him. Within seconds, he could feel sweat running down his body and dampening his dark robes.

He never thought he would return to this place. He hated this place. This was where he spent his childhood imprisoned as a slave, this was where he left his mother behind to go off to be a Jedi, this was where he returned to save his mother but only to watch her die in his arms. After Shmi was killed, Anakin had nothing left in this desert wasteland. He did not think he would ever return, and he did not intend to.

Until today, when Petiuit said Obi-Wan Kenobi was rumored to be on Tatooine.

Maybe, it was fate that brought him back. Maybe, just coincidence. Maybe, the Force. No matter what it was, Anakin did not care. Suddenly, he loved this planet. Suddenly, Tatooine was his home. It was home not because this was where he was born and raised, but because this was where his family was now. This was where he would, finally, see them again.

Anakin ran for perhaps five minutes, before the tall Vaporators of a moisture farm appeared over the burning dunes. His heart swelled with joy, and his gut churned with anxiety. "Padmé," he whispered. Darth Vader's cold expression melted away, and Anakin's face lit up like the sun. He smiled brighter than he had smiled in all his life. He ran toward the farm.

He made it over the dunes, and the house appeared too. Anakin's heart pounded wilder than ever, more from anxiety and ecstasy than from running. He ran toward the house. Wind whipped past his ears, but he did not hear it. The heat bore down on him, but he did not feel it. His lungs—which had never been the same since Mustafar—contracted into tight knots, his airways closed up, his chest pulsated with pain, and he could hardly breathe, but he did not even notice. His legs were moving as fast as they could; his eyes were fixed on the closed door; his mind was too overwhelmed to form coherent thoughts; his heart yearned for the moment when he would run inside and see his family.

He did not make it to the house. He was still an acre away, when the front door burst open and a woman with long brown hair and deep brown eyes ran out. She must have been waiting for him. As soon as she saw him running across the desert, she ran out to meet him.

Anakin's heart gave way.

Over the last three years, every thought, every feeling, every longing inside of Anakin, Darth Vader had to hide. He put up a stone wall—an impenetrable dam, constructed to hold back even the fiercest current—in front of his heart, and it held back his emotions. It kept them inside of him. It hid them from the Emperor. It prevented them from leaking out. However, over those three years, emotion was slowly building up, rising like water behind the dam, pressing against it, filling up, getting to the top—build the dam a little high so it won't overflow…

Darth Vader managed to keep his heart at bay.

Anakin saw this woman, and the dam broke.

A stone wall shattered like glass and came crashing down. Anakin's soul came rushing forward like a current of clear water. Everything came pouring out. A smile burst radiantly on his lips. The sun, itself, was not as bright as his face. Elation, rapture, pure rejoicing flowed from every pour in his skin. Tears, like the cleansing water of baptism, washing away his sin, his sorrows, and his fears—washing away the past—fell from his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Anakin did not try to stop them.

"Padmé!" Anakin yelled, as he gazed across the hot sand at his wife. He ran faster.

"Anakin!" Padmé cried out in return.

Her voice! The sweet, beautiful, precious sound, which Anakin had been deprived of for the last _three years_. This voice was the voice of an angel. It was music; it was sunlight; it was the moon and the stars and everything _good_ left in this fallen world. It was the most beautiful sound Anakin had ever heard.

Anakin ran toward Padmé. Padmé ran toward Anakin. They stared into each others eyes, and the whole world around them was gone. In this moment, there was nothing expect the two of them: running toward each other, desperate to touch each other again. They did not see the desert, or hear the wind, or feel the heat, or the pounding of their hearts. They did not care about the war, or the Rebellion, or the Empire, or anything else in the galaxy. In this moment, it was only them. Only them two. Deeply in love, as if it was the first time, and, finally, after three years apart, together one more time.

Their bodies collided. They did not feel the pain of the fierce impact or the discomfort in their chests as their breath was knocked out of their lungs. They threw their arms around each other and held on for dear life.

Padmé threw her arms around Anakin. His arms closed around her back, and he lifted her off of the ground. He scooped her up in his arms and spun her around. Padmé laughed in pure happiness, clinging to him and burring her face against him as he twirled her. At last, her feet touched the sand, and they stood before each other, their bodies pressed together, locked in a tight embrace.

She gripped him as tightly as she could, desperately, violently. She sunk her fingers into his clothes and gripped it in fists. She buried her face on his shoulder. She clutched the back of his head and cradled it against herself. She closed her eyes and cried.

Anakin pulled Padmé into him and held her into his chest. He felt the warmth of her delicate body against him. He felt the touch of her smooth skin against his. Her ran his hand down her back and through her long hair, and, even though it was made of metal,somehow, he could still feel her. He closed his eyes and held her against him. They held each other, as if they were afraid to let go. They held each other, as if holding on to life, itself.

"Anakin! Oh, Anakin!" Padmé cried in a whisper, as she clung to him. "Ani, is it really you!?"

"Of course, it's me," Anakin answered with a soft laugh against her ear. He smiled through his tears and kissed the side of her head. "Padmé… Let me see you."

He pulled back slightly so he could look into her face. She looked exactly the same. Of course, she was not dressed in an elegant gown, and her face was not decorated in make-up, and her hair was just pulled back in a simple, half-falling-out braid, but she still looked the same. That sun-kissed skin and worn-out clothes did nothing to hide her beauty. Padmé had not aged a day. She was exactly the same: unchanged, unwavering, faithful. Like a northern star. Her face was as stainless as her heart, which had never falter for even a faction of a second, which had continued to love Anakin every moment, whose love had not faded with time but only grown stronger.

"Padmé…" Anakin whispered in awe and adoration. He in gazed into her beautiful face, her warm brown eyes, which looked straight back into his. Tears glittered like diamonds on her pretty cheeks. The tears of an angel. Padmé was an angel. There was no other explanation. What other woman could be so pure, so faithful, so _forgiving,_ even after all of this time, even after everything her husband had done her wrong? Only Padmé. Only his angel.

Tears anew fell from Anakin's eyes. He took her cheek gently in his hand and softly stroked her cheek. He opened his mouth to say something, but he could not find words. So, he just leaned in and kissed her. They closed their eyes, as their lips met for the first time in three years.

Warmth rushed through them both. It spread immediately through their entire bodies, fulling them like oxygen, like the sweetest aroma, or the purest water. Love swelled inside of them. Like light making the darkness fade and vanish, love chased out all else. It healed them like medicine. It healed everything. Even though the entire galaxy was crumpling around them, everything was going to be alright, they both knew, because they were both together again, and because they both loved each other.

"Oh, Anakin," Padmé sighed, when their kiss ended at last. She closed her eyes and buried herself in his embrace, leaning against his shoulder, letting his arms envelope her like a blanket. She wrapped her arms around his back and strained her muscles clutching him so tightly. "I've been thinking about you every second," she whispered through trembling and through tears. "I've been praying for you every night. Praying for this moment… Praying that you would come home… so we would be together again… and Luke and Leia would see their father again…"

"I'm here, Padmé," Anakin said softly, his lips brushing affectionately against her ear. "I'm here."

"Anakin, I've missed you." Padmé pulled back to look at him. She took his cheeks in both of her hands and clutched his face so she could gaze into his eyes. "Oh, I've missed you so much!"

"I've missed you, Padmé." Anakin leaned forward so his forehead rested against her forehead, his hands rested on her waist. He closed his eyes. "Every second… I've missed you more than you can imagine."

"No, Anakin, I can imagine it. I've missed you the same."

"It's been torture… being away from you and the children."

"I know, Anakin, I know."

"All I wanted for three years, was to see you again."

"Me too, Anakin. Me too…"

"I love you, Padmé." Anakin opened his eyes and looked into Padmé's. "I love you," his whispered again.

"I love you, Anakin," Padmé vowed as well.

"I've always loved you. And I always will."

Anakin leaned in and kissed her again. And again. He kissed her on the lips, and then on the cheek, and then on the forehead, and on the lips again. He would have been content just to hold her in his arms forever and kiss her again and again. However, his contentment transfigured into rapture, when a new voice—a voice that Anakin had never heard before, and, yet, he recognized it at once—called out to him.

"Daddy!"

Anakin and Padmé turned their heads and opened their eyes (breaking apart from a passionate kiss), and, to the astonishment of them both, saw their three-year-old son running toward them across the sand.

Anakin stared at the child. Shocked. Speechless.

No. There was _no way_ Luke remembered him. There was no way Luke even knew who he was. Luke was a _newborn_ the last time Anakin saw him. The mere _thought_ that the child could remember him was preposterous. Outrageous. Impossible. And, yet…

"Daddy!" Luke cried again. He kept running toward Anakin, stumbling on his little legs as he hurried across the desert. Even if Luke did not know Anakin, he clearly knew Anakin was his father. That alone was more than Anakin could have wished for.

"Luke!" the father shouted to his son. His heart leaped into his throat, as overpowering joy took its place in his chest. A smile even broader still illuminated his face like sunlight.

Anakin took off running. He reached his son in a matter of seconds and swooped him up off of the ground. He lifted the child up high over his head. Luke kicked his feet gleefully, as Anakin spun him around, and the child felt like he was flying. Both the father and son laughed, before Anakin pulled Luke down into his chest and cradled him against his shoulder, and they both cried.

"Oh, Luke…" Anakin whispered in a quivering voice. He held his son tightly in his arms, unwilling to let him go. He cradled his tiny head against his shoulder, clutching his whole head with one hand. "My boy…" Tears filled up Anakin's eyes. "My baby… I missed you."

"Daddy…" Luke whimpered, as he clung to his father. Anakin could understand him perfectly. "I was scared," the child whispered, "…you we're going to come back…"

If Anakin was shocked before, now he was… _beyond shocked._ Before he left Alderaan three years ago, when Luke and Leia were still in their crib, hardly able to understand anything except who their parents were and that their parents loved them, Anakin kissed them each goodbye and promised he would see them again one day. He promised he would come back. But Luke could not have remembered that. He could not even have understood what his father was saying. Then, how…

Anakin could not begin to understand.

"I came back, Luke," Anakin whispered into his son's ear. He blinked his eyes hard, trying to force back tears. "No matter what happens, I promise, I will always come back. I will always come back for you. I promise."

Luke, his face buried, nodded against Anakin's shoulder.

Tears spilt out Anakin's eyes, and his throat tightened into a knot as he tried to say these next words. His voice cracked as he whispered, "I love you, Luke. I love you so much…" His turned his face closer toward the child and kissed the top of his head, his velvety blonde curls. Anakin closed his eyes, and tears ran, like peaceful streams, down his cheeks. He wiped his eyes with one gloved-hand, before Luke leaned back to look at him, so the child did not know his father had been crying.

Anakin held Luke in his arms. He smiled, laughing and at the same time trying not to cry, as he looked into his son's face. Luke still had blue eyes. He had long, blonde curls, as soft as silk. His skin was milky and smooth, despite growing up in the harsh conditions of this planet. He was small—tiny. He barely weighed anything, as Anakin held him in his half-mechanical arms. The child had grown so much, and yet he was so much the same. He was so much the same as he was three years ago when he woke up crying in the night, and Anakin held him in his arms until he fell asleep, listening to the sound of his father's heart.

Padmé was at Anakin's side now. She beamed at them both. First, she kissed her son's cheek, and then she kissed her husbands. For the first time in three years, she was completely and fully happy. Even the hair-line cracks in her fractured heart were mended. Her heart was made new. It was not broken anymore.

"Where's your sister?" Anakin asked the child in his arms. Luke twisted around in Anakin's embrace and pointed toward the house. Anakin turned his head. The door of the adobe was now open, and two people were standing in the entrance, looking out and watching this happy reunion. One of them was a child. A little girl. Leia.

She looked just like Padmé. She was clothed in a simple but pretty cream-colored dress. Her deep, dark eyes were like chocolate, but they glittered like gold in the sunlight. Her long brown hair was pulled into two buns, one on each side of her head. Her face was sweet, and innocent, and beautiful. Just like her mother. God, she looked just like her mother…

Leia was usually the braver of the two children. However, for once, she was showing more shyness than Luke. Instead of running to greet her father, whom she did not know or remember, she stayed half-hidden behind the legs and holding the hand of the father she did know. The father she did love.

When Anakin could finally bring himself to look away from his daughter, his eyes flickered upward to see the man. He frowned, bewildered and a bit startled. He did not recognize— Wait. Was that… _Obi-Wan!?_

At first, Anakin was astonished at how different Obi-Wan looked. But, then, at second glance, he realized Obi-Wan really did not look that different, at all. The biggest difference, in fact, was that Anakin had never before seen Obi-Wan when he wasn't wearing Jedi robes. Now, he was wearing the simple attire of a Tatooine moister farmer. His hair was longer, like it was when he was a Knight, and it was blonder too, bleached by two suns, which brought out the red highlights as well. His skin was tanner, and his cheeks a bit sunburned. Anakin also noticed the nasty rash coming up on his face—Petiuit's doings, he knew for sure. Sithspit.

Still, none of these things made Obi-Wan look especially different. What was it then? Anakin could not quite put his finger on it. Obi-Wan did not look much older, so it wasn't age. It was… It was something about his eyes, Anakin realized, at last. Something about the expression, the _warmth_ in them. The _happiness._ Yes, that was it. Happiness was something Anakin was not used to seeing in his master. At least, not like this.

A small smile appeared on Obi-Wan lips, as Anakin met his gaze. "Welcome home," he said amiably, although perhaps a bit tensely. Yet, he spoke sincerely when he went on, "It's good to see you again, Anakin."

Anakin found himself smiling warmly back at Obi-Wan. "It's good to see you too, Obi-Wan." Luke in one arm and Padmé clinging to the other, Anakin approached the house. "Thank you for taking care of my family," Anakin said earnestly. "Thank you for… thank you for everything. I can't begin to repay you…"

"You don't have to," Obi-Wan dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand and a good-natured smile. Because what Anakin had already given Obi-Wan was more than any Jedi could have hoped for. Unintentionally, unknowingly—but, it seems, everything happens for a reason, even the dark, terrible things that seem nothing good can come out of—Anakin had given Obi-Wan a family.

Anakin's eyes shifted, and he looked own at his daughter again. Wide brown eyes stared up at him. Leia did not recoil, but neither did she look eager to meet him. Luke still in on arm, Anakin kneeled down slowly in front of his daughter. "Hi, Leia," he said gently. "Do you remember me?"

Leia shook her head. "No."

Anakin grinned. _At least, she's honest,_ he thought. Brutally honest. Kind of like her father was at that age.

"I'm your daddy," he told her. "You were really little last time I saw you."

Leia didn't answer. She just continued to stare at Anakin, unsmiling, looking him up and down, as if trying to decide whether or not she liked him. She tightened her grip on Obi-Wan's hand—which, Anakin realized with a pang of guilt, was still covered in scars. Scars from Mustafar.

"Leia," Obi-Wan spoke up. His voice was gentle and, yet, firm at the same time. "Give your father a hug."

Leia raised her face and stared up at Obi-Wan. The expression on her face and the glint in her eyes was enough to ask, _Do I have to?_

And the look Obi-Wan returned was enough to inform her, _Yes, you do._

Leia unhappily turned away from Obi-Wan and stared at Anakin, once more. Slowly, grudgingly, she let go of Obi-Wan's hand and approached her father. Anakin's smile grew and glowed, as his daughter came to him. He pulled her into his arms. Leia loosely hugged his shoulder, but Anakin held her in strong embrace against him, and she did not resist. He kissed her on the head, the top of her glossy hair. "I love you," he whispered in is daughter's ear. "I love you so much…" He kissed her again, before he let her go and rose to his feet.

"Come inside, Anakin," Padmé urged, pulling on his arm. "I just finished dinner; you're just in time!"

"Perfect," Anakin beamed, as he followed her inside. His son in his arm, his wife clinging to his shoulder, his daughter close by, and his brother holding her hand… This was more than he could have dreamed of. This was what he wanted, all along, Anakin realized, at last. This was all he ever wanted. His family. To be with them. To be happy, and to be free. When he was a child, he thought his dream was to be a Jedi, but he was wrong. His one, true dream was to have a family. Now, for this one day, that dream came true.

"Well, bless my _circuits_! If it isn't the _Maker,_ himself! Master _Anakin!_ How _good_ it is to see you again!"

"3PO!" A wide grin spread across Anakin's face, as he looked across the room and, sure enough, there was the very protocol droid he built when he was a child. And, beside C-3PO, was, to Anakin's even greater delight, the little astromech droid, R2-D2, who helped him survive the Clone Wars. "R2!" Anakin laughed. "Good to see you again, little buddy!"

"Your _droids_ have missed you, Anakin," Obi-Wan said with a chuckle, a note of playful mockery in his voice. It had long been debate between the master and his padawan, whether droids were actually capable of thinking and feeling, like Anakin swore, or whether they were just a box of circuits and wires. As far as Anakin was concerned, droids were lifeforms just like everyone else (even though, as Obi-Wan often pointed out, they weren't actually _alive_ ), and he did not think of them as machines but friends.

"Well, I've missed them, too," Anakin said with a grin, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. However, he was still smiling. They both were.

Padmé was in ecstasy like none of them had seem her before. She bustled about the house, as if there was not a thing wrong with the world, as if there was no war, no rebellion, no Sith, and no Dark Side, as if every sorrow or hardship was only a bad dream, and the galaxy was perfect. As if this one day would last forever. She was practically bouncing as she went about the dinning room, beaming and laughing and kissing her husband, her son, and her daughter every time she passed one of them. They had never seen her so happy.

She ushered them all into their chairs around the table, refusing their many offers to help her, and served them each copious amounts of food. When their plates were filled with more than they could possibly eat, she sat herself down beside Anakin. Leia sat on Padmé's other side, Luke sat beside Anakin, and Obi-Wan kept his distance beside Leia at other end of the table. Yet, Anakin could sense in the Force, where he was sitting now was usually where Obi-Wan sat.

Luke hardly stopped talking long enough to take a few bites of food. The child eagerly rushed to tell his father all about his adventures on Tatooine, how he and Leia rode in the speeder, how they helped Ben with the Vaporators, how they went to the town to sell water, about all of the things they had seen there, and, of course, about the Imperial troops who had raided their house just earlier that day. Soon, Leia started interjecting. ("No, Luke, it was like _this!_ "she corrected him, and then she proceeded to tell the story her way, which was pretty much the same.) Before long, she was taking over as lead-storyteller, barely giving Luke chance to say a few words.

By the time dinner was over, Leia had stopped clinging to Obi-Wan. In fact, she seemed as comfortable with Anakin as Luke did. Looking at the three, they appeared a normal family, a normal father with his normal children. One could not have guessed that they had been apart for three years, or that the last time these children saw their father, they were infants.

Obi-Wan smiled slightly, as he glanced across the room to behold this happy family. Anakin and Padmé were sitting on the couch together, side by side, hand in hand, and their children were bouncing back and forth between the two of them, unable to sit still, fervently telling them everything they could think to tell. One minute, Luke was in Anakin's lap and Leia in Padmé's; the next minute, Leia was in Anakin's lap and Luke in Padmé's; and the next minute, they were both in Anakin's lap. This was the happiest Obi-Wan could remember seeing any of them in a long time, Anakin, Padmé, and the children. It made him very happy.

And, yet… for some reason that he could not understand, it also made him very… sad.

He knew he had no place in this family. Anakin was his brother—or at least he was once—but, even still, Obi-Wan could not help but feel a bit out of place here. As if he was intruding. As if they would all be more comfortable if he was gone. Perhaps, it was just in his head. Yet, whether it was real or not, it was enough to remind him: as much as he would have liked to believe otherwise, this family was _not_ his own. This was _Anakin's_ family. Not his. He could not forget that.

Obi-Wan looked away. He fixed his eyes on the plate in his hands (after dinner, he insisted on doing the dishes, mostly to give Anakin and Padmé some time to themselves, and they were just so eager to be together that they agreed) and found it was easier to stare at the dishes than at the family. He let out a heavy sigh, trying to release some of the tension building up in his chest. His lungs seemed to contract at this. His chest felt tight. It hurt.

He was not feeling his best right now. The rash on his face stung, of course, but his throat hurt too. His head ached a bit, and he felt a little sick to his stomach...

That was odd.

A moment ago, the pain was so vague that Obi-Wan barely noticed it. All of the sudden, it hit him like a tsunami wave. Out of nothing. Without warning. Devastating. He was lightheaded, and dizzy, and nauseous… He felt like he might throw up. He felt awful.

Obi-Wan raised his hand to cover his mouth, as the spontaneous reflex to gag took grip on him. A wave of painful coughing tore through him. It hurt his chest, and his throat, and his head, too…

"Are you alright, Ben?" Padmé's voice called obviously from the other room. "Are you feeling okay? That cough doesn't sound good."

"Yes, I'm fine," Obi-Wan answered hoarsely.

He believed it was true, until he opened his eyes and saw the outstretched palm in front of his face, the palm that had covered his mouth. It was splattered in blood.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey, everyone!**

 **Thank you all again so much for all of your support! Guests and fanfiction members alike, it has really meant so much to me. I love you all!**

 **I'm sorry I've been taking so long to update. I just moved into college, and it's been really rough. Haven't had much time to write between school, orientation, and my own emotional problems about leaving home. But, hey, now I know how Anakin feels being away from his family ;)**

 **Thanks again, everyone! Love you all!**

* * *

 **Sworn to Darkness**

Chapter XV

"Oh, God, Obi-Wan!" said Anakin.

"Luke, Leia, go to your room!" said Padmé.

"But why—" said Leia.

" _Now,_ Leia! Both of you!"

The sound of little feet scampered away. A door shut.

"Oh, dear… Can… _I_ be of any assistance?" said 3PO.

"No," said Anakin.

"Keep Luke and Leia in their room," said Padmé.

"Obi-Wan…"

Anakin was suddenly at the Jedi's side.

"Obi-Wan, look at me."

Obi-Wan started to look up—

His chested clamped; his insides contracted; he bent over, coughing violently, as pain, like a beast inside his chest, ripped his lungs apart. Thick, hot fluid came up his throat, choking him, gagging him, and a vile taste—pungent and stale—filled his mouth. When he next opened his eyes, the white sleeves of his shirt were spotted red.

"Obi-Wan!" Durasteel hands seized Obi-Wan in a firm grasp, and Anakin held onto him, trying to steady him. "Take a deep breath, Obi-Wan, just _breathe._ "

Obi-Wan had to gasp for air. His chest screamed. His airways felt raw and scored. It hurt to breathe. It was _hard_ to breathe.

"Come on, Obi-Wan," he heard Anakin urgently ordering from beside him. "You need to sit down. Come on. This way." Anakin held Obi-Wan in aliteral iron-grip and dragged him forcibly across the room.

"Anakin, what's happening to him!?" Padmé cried in panic from somewhere around them. "Is it… Is he _poisoned!?_ "

"Sit down," Anakin commanded Obi-Wan. He did not give him a choice. He put his hands on Obi-Wan's shoulders and gave him a firm push toward the couch.

Obi-Wan did not resist.

"Anakin…" Padmé repeated, terror rising in her voice each second. "Did that _creature_ poison him!?"

Petiuit. Darth Vader had seen enough of that monster's victims poisoned and murdered to know what it looked like. He knew without question. Anakin gritted his teeth. Without glancing over his shoulder, he answered darkly, "Yes."

"Oh, God!" whimpered Padmé, covering her mouth in horror.

 _Oh, God,_ thought Obi-Wan numbly, staring at the blood on his hands. _I can't die yet. The children need me still._

"Obi-Wan…" said Anakin.

Obi-Wan sat stiffly on the couch, trying to keep a clear head, trying to control his breathing, trying not to cough, holding his chest with one hand, as if that might somehow ease the pain. Anakin kneeled down in front of him. His eyes shifted slightly upward, and he found himself staring straight into Anakin's eyes: cold and grave.

"Obi-Wan, listen to me," Anakin said very clearly. His tone was even but, at the same time, dire. Obi-Wan knew he was trying to conceal his fear. "Did the alien cut you, at all?"

"No," said Obi-Wan in a weak voice.

"Are you _positive?_ " Anakin pressed him, unwilling to sigh in relief just yet. "It didn't have to be his fangs; it could be the claws, or… just a scratch. Just a scratch is enough to _kill you_ , Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan frowned and strained his throbbing head in attempt to think. The clones gave him enough scrapes and bruises, but the general had not scratched him at all. He had not even touched him. He shook his head. "No, it didn't scratch me."

Anakin let out his breath and rose to his feet.

"Are you _sure_ , Obi-Wan?" a terrified Padmé demanded from behind Anakin. "Are you sure it didn't cut you?"

"It didn't cut him," Anakin said with a sigh, rethinking the situation with a clear mind. "If it had, he would have been dead long before now."

"Then, what's _wrong_ with him!?" Padmé exclaimed.

Just then, Obi-Wan bent forward, coughing painfully into his sleeve.

"Obi-Wan…" Anakin knelt down in front of his master again and took a strong hold on his shoulders. "Easy. Just keep breathing. You'll be okay."

"Anakin…" Padmé said anxiously. "What's the matter with him?"

"He breathed in the toxins," Anakin muttered through his teeth. They could hear fury brewing inside of him—a dangerous toxin in itself. He always hated Petiuit. He hated the Sithspawn from the moment he saw him; he hated him even more when he watched him torture and murder innocent people; but _now_ that he had threatened his family and injured his brother, Anakin might have hated the devil more than ever.

"That same rash on his face is forming in his respiratory tract," Anakin grimly explained. "That's why you're coughing up blood, Obi-Wan. It's from the blisters in your throat. Hopefully, it's not in your lungs, but it's definitely possible… and unfortunately likely."

"Oh. Wonderful," Obi-Wan grumbled. He coughed again.

"Your nose will probably start bleeding before the night is over, also."

"I think it already has." Obi-Wan moved his sleeve away from his face, which was getting redder each second. Sure enough, steady streams of hot blood were running from both sides of his nose.

"Kriff," cursed Anakin.

"God…" whispered Padmé.

She rushed forward and sat down on the couch beside Obi-Wan. "Here, Obi-Wan, hold this on your nose." She raised a cloth to his face, which he gratefully took from her and held against his nose, trying to stop the rapid flow of blood. Padmé placed her soft hand on his shoulder and rubbed it gently. She watched Obi-Wan for several moments, before she turned her frightened eyes to stare at her husband.

"Is he going to be alright, Anakin?" she asked quietly.

"He'll be okay," Anakin answered tensely. His whole body was stiff; his jaws were clamped together; even the muscles in his cheeks were visibly tight. He stood up and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at them both as he went on. "As long as it didn't get in his blood stream, he should be okay. You'll be sick as hell for the next couple of days, Obi-Wan, but you'll survive."

"Thank you, for that reassurance, Anakin," Obi-Wan muttered, his voice hoarse and muffled. "It means a lot." He looked up at his friend and tried a weak smile. Anakin did not smile. He was thinking. Obi-Wan could not quite interoperate the young man's thoughts, but he could see careful consideration in his eyes. Perhaps, there was more that Anakin had not told them.

"What can we do?" Padmé asked her husband nervously. "How can we help him?"

"There's a medical pack on my ship," said Anakin. "I have an antidote." He turned and headed for the door at a swift jog. "I'll be right back," he told them over his shoulder. "Stay with him, Padmé."

As soon as the door closed behind him, Anakin's jog became a sprint. Once again, found himself running across the harsh Tatooine desert. He made it back to his ship in a matter of minutes. He leapt into the cockpit and found the medical pack he kept under the always-unoccupied co-pilot seat. He swung the backpack over his shoulders and jumped down into the sand.

 _I can't leave Obi-Wan when he's sick like this,_ he thought, as he closed up the cockpit. He frowned at his ship and allowed himself a moment to contemplate the situation. Palpatine would expect him back on Coruscant by tonight—and even tonight was pushing it—to give a full report about what had happened on Tatooine. Anakin would be prepared with assurance that this moisture farmer was _not_ Obi-Wan Kenobi and not a threat to the Empire. That part would be simple. However, he would have to give his report over hologram and find an excuse to stay on Tatooine. He could not leave his brother in this condition. It was too dangerous.

Anakin did not tell Obi-Wan or Padmé this, however, Obi-Wan was not in the clear yet. In the past three years, Anakin had seen _many_ beings die from what Obi-Wan was about to endure. This infection. Yes, just inhaling the poison in Petiuit's breath was enough to kill someone. It _had_ killed people in the past. _Numbers_ of people. Anakin had see it himself.

They had no idea the severity of Obi-Wan's sickness. It was true a rash was forming in his respiratory tract; it was true the blood was most likely from blisters in his throat; and it was true Obi-Wan would probably survive. (He _would_ survive—Anakin would make absolutely certain of it.) However, without the antidote Anakin was about to give him, he would have been a dead man. This is why:

Now, Obi-Wan was only coughing up blood, which was the beginning of a very slow and painful process. A slow and painful death. Within the next few hours, his lungs would melt like hot wax, and he would be coughing up clots of his own organs. With the antidote—something Darth Vader ordered created—this could be prevented.

Still, Obi-Wan was going to be _very sick_ for a next few days. Anakin wanted to be there to take care of him, and he wanted to be there to take care of his family. Obi-Wan would not be able to protect them until he was well.

So, Anakin concluded, he had to find an excuse to stay on Tatooine for a couple of days. _Alright,_ he thought, studying his ship, studying the desert terrain around it. _This will be easy enough._

Anakin opened his palms and held his hands out in front of him. He picked out a large boulder—the largest he could find—and levitated it. It hovered calmly over the sand. Anakin threw his hands toward the ship. In perfect submission, the boulder hurdled through the air and slammed into the back of spacecraft. There was a thunderous crash, sparks burst in every direction, and thick clouds of smoke began rising from the ship. Anakin tossed what was left of the rock aside and looked in approval at his handiwork—the smashed rear of the ship. That would take a while to repair.

He decided to take off the backpack and hide it under the ship. Then, he walked several paces in front of the smoking vessel, withdrew his comlink, and contacted Coruscant. It took a little while to pick up a transmission, but, in time, a blue holographic image of the Emperor appeared over the comlink in his hand.

"Master," said Darth Vader, bowing before the Emperor.

"Lord Vader," Palpatine replied with relish. "I've been expecting you."

"As we predicted, this moisture farmer is not Obi-Wan Kenobi," Anakin told the Sith Lord. "They share bit of a resemblance, which is probably where rumors started, but the family does not seem to be connected to the Jedi or the Rebellion."

Palpatine nodded. "As we thought," he agreed. "Thank you for your service, Lord Vader. It is appreciated."

"A pleasure, as always, Master. However… I regret to inform you, I've run into a bit of trouble."

"Trouble, Lord Vader?" Palpatine echoed, a note of concern arising in his tone. "Are you injured?"

"No, I'm fine. My ship took a beating, though." He lifted his comlink and pointed it toward the ship, so Palpatine could see the damaged vessel, parked inside a cloud of smoke. "Got hit by a rock," which was true, "not long before I landed."

"We can send a ship to Tatooine to pick you up," Palpatine started.

"That's not necessary, Master. I can repair the damage to my ship, but it's going to be a few days before I can get her flying again."

"Take as much time as you need, my apprentice," said Palpatine, and Anakin did not have to pretend to be grateful when he inclined his head and thanked his master. "General Zelus will fulfill your duties until you return." Anakin was not particularly keen on that idea, but he was too relieved that he would get to stay with his family to very much care. He thanked Palpatine again and ended the transmission.

Anakin doubted it would take more than an evening to repair the damage to his ship (he was an expert at fixing things like this). Yet, as far as Palpatine knew, it would take a week. He had all of the time in the world.

Well… a little bit of time, at least. A little more time with his family.

Anakin ran back to the house. As he opened the front door and hurried inside, he was afraid of what he would find. He hadn't been gone more than fifteen minutes, and he knew, in that short time, Obi-Wan's condition would have gotten several times worse. He was right.

Obi-Wan was still sitting on the couch, and Padmé was still sitting beside him, but, now, he was clutching a bucket in his lap, leaning over it, and throwing up. Sweat glistened on his face, and, even from across the room, Anakin could see him shaking. He looked terrible. His skin was getting pale, and his eyes getting dark. As if his very _life_ was fading.

Petiuit's poison was fast.

Padmé was in a panic, deeply distressed, close to tears, as she sat beside Obi-Wan, trying to help him, but helpless to do anything but watch. One of her arms was around his shoulders, holding him close to her, and she gently stroked his closest arm with her free hand, desperate to give him any piece of comfort. "It's going to be okay, Obi-Wan," Anakin could hear her delicate, terrified whisper. "Anakin's going to be back soon, and he has the antidote. You're going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine. Just hold on… Hold on, Obi-Wan. …Please…"

Anakin heard the desperation, the _anguish,_ in Padmé's voice. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in her heart. Her utter fear of losing him. Then, Anakin realized something. It was something he should have seen all along, yet he never did. It was simple. Obvious. Yet, he did not see it until now.

Padmé loved him. Padmé loved Obi-Wan.

Anakin always knew the Senator and the Jedi were friends. They were friends since Padmé was little more than a child, since Obi-Wan was a padawan. For many years, Obi-Wan was a better friend to Padmé than Anakin was. However, the then-padawan was so caught up in his own relationship with the senator, he never took the time to consider her relationship with his _master._

He never thought there was anything more between the two of them than a simple friendship. Maybe, not even something all the way to _friendship._ They were more acquaintances, he reasoned. They saw each other—at least, Anakin believed in his youth—as _allies._ The only thing between the senator and the Jedi was a mutual respect, a shared ambition to serve the people, and a shared love for the Republic. Anakin never imaged the two also shared a love for _each other_.

Now, at last, he saw that he was wrong.

They were more than allies. They were more than acquaintances. The bond between them was deeper than friendship. It was a strong, intimate connection: the kind that can only form amid _family._ Blood is not important—that is not what makes a true family—but other things are. Trust, loyalty, devotion, and love. Selfless, unreserved, unconditional love. The kind of love that means you care about another more than you care about yourself. The kind of love that would compel a man to lay down his life for someone else, a brother, a sister, a friend. That is true love. That is what Anakin saw between Padmé and Obi-Wan.

Padmé loved him.

And—the realization hit him like a brick in the forehead, a bullet in the heart—Obi-Wan loved her too.

Anakin did not even know what to _begin_ to think.

"Anakin!" Padmé's desperate—and _relieved_ —cry snapped him out of this dazed contemplation and back into reality. His gaze shifted. He stared into her wide, frightened eyes. "Do you have it!? The antidote!?"

Anakin nodded once. Without a word, he rushed across the room to meet them. "Oh, thank goodness!" Padmé sighed, as Anakin swung the backpack off of his shoulders, knelt down in front of them, and shuffled through its contents. He found the antidote: a pale blue fluid, contained in several small vials, which were stored in a larger blaster-proof container. He took out one vial and one sterile syringe, using the Force to flick the safety-cap off the top of the needle. He wasn't any chances. He filled the shot up to the max dose. Obi-Wan was still coughing over the bucket, hacking up blood, as Anakin grabbed the Jedi's weakening arm, pulled up his sleeve, and injected the antidote into his vein.

Anakin let out a heavy breath, which until now he did not realize he had been holding. Obi-Wan was still coughing. A cough became a gag, and he vomited again into the bucket. However, Anakin knew he had made it in time. He could sense it in the Force. Obi-Wan was going to be alright.

Padmé cringed and gave Obi-Wan's arm a gentle squeeze—as if that could make him feel any better. "Oh, Obi-Wan…" she said in a pained whisper. "It'll be okay, now. You'll be fine…" She sounded uncertain. Her frightened eyes flickered up to stare at Anakin. Tentatively, she asked, "…Won't he?"

Anakin did not say anything. His face was grave and his eyes cold, as he finished reassembling the items in his medical pack and closed it up. He let out a heavy sigh.

"Anakin…" Padmé said slowly, nervously.

"He'll be alright," Anakin reported. His voice was expressionless, his face impossible to read. "The antidote got in him in time. He could have died without it," he decided to admit, now that he was confident Obi-Wan would survive, "and he's still going to be in bad shape for a couple of days. But he'll live."

"What else can we do?" Padmé asked softly.

"Get him some water," said Anakin. Water was not an easy thing to come by on Tatooine, but, luckily, this house was on a moisture farm, and it was one of the few with a plentiful supply. He touched Obi-Wan's forehead. Even though he hands were metal, he could sense the heat radiating off the man's skin. "He's getting a fever."

Obi-Wan couldn't remember much after that. He was lightheaded and weak, and a blurriness clouded his eyes like a veil of fog. He remembered coughing a lot—choking up clots of dark, thick, stringy material, gagging on it as came up his throat in clunks and filled his mouth with the most repulsive substance he had ever tasted. He remembered a lot of blood. Coming out of his mouth, dripping down his chin, splattering in the bucket in his lap when he coughed, coming up in his vomit, all over his hands, all over his shirt, on Padmé and Anakin too…

He remembered _pain._ Terrible pain. The worst pain he had experienced in _years._ Pain that blinded him. Choked him. _Suffocated_ him. He couldn't breathe.

He remembered throwing up one more time (he might have thrown up several more times, but he could only remember once). He remembered Anakin shoving a glass of water in his face and forcing him to drink, and he remembered Anakin jabbing needles (more than one more time) into his arm. He remembered Padmé's gentle words of comfort growing softer, fainter, more distant, as his head spun and his mind retreated into darkness.


	16. Chapter 16

**Hi, all of my beloved readers!**

 **I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. My life has literally been** _ **crazy**_ **lately. Literally, in the last three weeks, I've gone to college out of state, hated it, transferred to a different college, moved in a new dorm the same day, and started all over again at a new school. I love this college though. I'm closer to home; I'm a lot happier; and I'm not getting depressed anymore, so that's one good thing! Things are** _ **finally**_ **slowing down, and I've had some time to write.**

 **For those of you have who have been patiently waiting for me to update, I CANNOT THANK YOU ENOUGH! Thank you all for your understanding, kindness, support, and encouragement. I really cannot tell you how much I appreciate it. Thank you, everyone, for reading. It means so much to me!**

 **I know the wait has been forever, but here's a really long chapter, hopefully to make up for it. Thank you all again, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Love you all!**

* * *

 **Sworn to Darkness**

Chapter XVI

He lying flat on his side. There was a pillow beneath his head, a light blanket over his body, and a dull, persistent ache in his chest. He was still on the couch. The room around him was dark. Murky light from elusive lamps leaked in through the cracks beneath closed doors, providing just enough luminance to see in the ominous shadow. There was a trashcan on the floor in front of him. Just in case he woke up and had to throw up again.

He let out a slow breath. His whole body ached. Every muscle was drained of strength and energy. His bones throbbed in a low, droning pulse. His head throbbed, too. Pressure filled up the inside of his skull, pressing out and making him worry the bone would crack. His sinuses burned. Everything from his throat down into his chest felt raw, scored. He shifted his muscles slightly and found it hurt to move. Just _breathing_ hurt.

With every inhale, sharp pain cut through his chest. The ache in his throat was almost maddening—like the worst case of strep he ever had, times five. His mind felt foggy, but he could distinctly remember Anakin saying something about _blisters_ in his throat. That was a nasty thought. It explained the pain, however.

"No, Luke," a muffled voice whispered from somewhere behind him. "Don't you dare wake him up! Do you hear me?" It was Padmé.

"But I need to say goodnight to him," Luke protested sadly.

"Ben hasn't told us a bedtime story yet, Mama," Leia added.

"Your father can tell you a story tonight," said Padmé. "Ben isn't feeling well."

"Is he sick?"

"Yes, now come on."

"Come on, Leia," Anakin said softly. "I'll tell you about the time me, Mommy, and Ben got tied up to big polls and had to escape giant monsters."

"You had to escape _monsters!?_ " Luke cried, half awed and half terrified.

"Yeah," Anakin answered with a laugh. "Do you want to hear about it?"

He heard the quiet patter of footsteps fade down a hallway, as Padmé and Anakin led their children to their room. He heard the door close. Then silence.

He lay there. Still. To weak to move. Swimming in and out of consciousness. Listening to the silence as it rung in his ears. Listening to the slow, labored rasp of his own breath. His lungs, it seemed, were two of the only parts of his body still capable of functioning, and they were crawling, _dragging_ themselves up a painful slope toward consciousness, toward life—away from death's alluring call.

Once again, Obi-Wan Kenobi found death calling to him, and, once again, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself trying to resist her alluring seduction. She was an astute temptress, and she was ravishing. She was darkness, and the darkness was beautiful. It loomed before him like a black jewel—black yet beguiling—singing out his name, bidding him come to her, offering him everything in return, offering him peace, sanctuary, _freedom,_ offering him an escape. An escape from the pain, an escape from the toil, an escape from the _suffering_ that hung on his heart and weighed him down, like a brick in his chest, for the last three years. She offered an escape from the hellish torment of his scourged soul.

For three years, the enchantress named Death followed Obi-Wan. She waited for the times when he was most vulnerable; then she appeared before him and flaunted her enticing offer once more. For three years, Obi-Wan refused her. And three years ago, she was far harder to refuse. Now, he had a family—two children and their mother, and also a brother, no matter how distant—that he loved. Now, he had something to live for. It wasn't hard to ignore the siren of death's lethal song.

He opened his eyes. He must have fallen out again, as now he felt as if he was emerging out from underwater, and he awoke. His senses were more alert this time. His body still ached; his muscles were still weak; however, a considerable deal of strength had returned to him. He let out a slow sigh and gently stretched his stiff muscles, before he pushed himself up and tried to stand. He was dizzy, but, moving slowly, he managed to keep his balance. He descended the hallway toward the children's room and found the door cracked open, a warm yellow light spilling out into the dark corridor, along with Anakin's muffled voice—a soft, gentle voice the Jedi scarcely heard his old apprentice use.

Almost cautiously, Obi-Wan went forward, a vague feeling of unease in his gut. At first, he thought it was just the effects of the poison upturning his stomach and urging him to vomit, but it was also the strange notion that he perceived that he was an intruder, trespassing on property he had no right to. For a fleeting moment, it was as if he was a thief, come into another man's home to steal something that was never his to take. He stopped just outside the doorway. Standing in the shadow of the dark hall, he peered through a half-open door into the cheerily lit room to behold…

His whole life.

Excluding Qui-Gon, who was dead and whom Obi-Wan (like a good Jedi) had done his best, in these many years, to forget, he saw everyone he ever loved. He saw his past—Anakin. 10 years of training a padawan, 3 years of fighting along side a Jedi Knight, and 3 painful years of wishing he had never known him at all. He saw his present—Padmé. Protecting her because it was his duty, protecting her because that was the only decent thing to do, and protecting her because he made a promise to Anakin. And he saw his future—Luke and Leia. Two children who were his whole life now, two children whom he would defend and train and raise and care for, two children whom he was not allowed to love but whom he loved like his own.

Looking through that narrow crack—the window dividing him from the family—Obi-Wan saw the life that was his now. A simple, modest, happy life that he thought impossible for a Jedi: a home, a family. And he saw the life that was, even still, just out of his reach.

Luke and Leia were snuggled up, side by side in one bed. Their heads rest on their pillows, and their blanket was clutched snuggly around them. Padmé and Anakin were huddled together as they sat on the bed beside them, like a pair of young lovers who do not yet know heartbreak. Padmé was smiling at her children and clinging to her husband. She grasped Anakin's arm as she rested her head serenely on his shoulder. Anakin was smiling too, as he held his wife and talked softly to his children. His face glowed and his eyes shined. He drank up this joy he never before tasted: the simple and miraculous joy of being a father. Obi-Wan was not sure he had ever seen the boy so happy.

"—Master Yoda got there just in time to chase away the evil Count Dooku," Anakin was finishing up his story. (Although, Obi-Wan noticed, in the last few minutes of the narration he caught, Anakin neglected to report the more gruesome details of the battle of Geonosis, like, for instance, how Dooku first cut off his arm, and how the medics had to operate on both Anakin and Obi-Wan, who also received bad lightsaber burns, in the back of a shuttle on their way to the medcenter.) Luke and Leia sighed in relief and murmured expressions like, "I knew it!" (that was Leia) or "Thank the _Maker!_ " (that was Luke, something he picked up from CPO). Watching the children, hearing their voices, a small smile appeared on Obi-Wan's tired face.

"Ben went back to Coruscant with Master Yoda and the other Jedi. But me and Mommy went back to Naboo…" A sparkle like sapphire catching the reflection of the sun flared in Anakin's vivid blue eyes, as he turned to gaze at the woman beside him. Their eyes met, and they both smiled and laughed quietly, lost for a moment in the bliss of a distant memory. "…and it was there I asked her to marry me. The next day, at sunset," he went on, finally succeeding in tearing his eyes away from Padmé to smile at his children, "we were married on the balcony in Varykino, in front of a big, beautiful lake. And that was the second happiest day of my life."

"The _second_ happiest?" Leia questioned, baffled by this, and judging by Luke's expression he was very confused too.

"Yeah," said Anakin with a nod and a broad smile. "The _happiest_ day of my life was the day you two were born."

That was undoubtedly the most twisted detail of Anakin's story. Obi-Wan remembered that day well, and, upon recalling it, he felt sick to his stomach. That day was _far_ from happy. It was one of the _worst_ days of all of their lives. It was a day of torment and toil and pain and suffering and anguish and guilt, a day of agony for all of them, a day when succumbing to death's proposal didn't seem such a bad idea. However, there were a few solitary minutes, when Anakin was allowed to go into the medical room to see Padmé, and to see his babies for the first time. Amid the darkness that swallowed up the days before and after it, perhaps those few minutes really were the happiness minutes of Anakin's life.

"Alright, time to sleep now," said Padmé when Anakin finished his story.

"Tell us another one," Luke murmured hopefully, even though his eyes were half-closed, and he already looked like he was falling asleep.

"No more tonight," said Anakin. He leaned forward to kiss his son and then his daughter on the top of the head. "I'll tell you another one tomorrow. Promise."

Padmé and Anakin kissed their children goodnight and tucked them into their beds. Usually, Obi-Wan would have been there to do this. As if saddened by his absence and hoping to see him before he went to sleep, Luke's tired eyes wandered longingly to the half-open doorway, and he saw the man standing there. A visible light sprang up in the child's sleepy eyes and a warm smile on his face. "Ben!" Luke's infantile cry caught the attention of everyone else in the room. "You're awake!"

Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile.

"Ben!" Padmé echoed, almost in the same tone as her son, and her face lit up the same way. She got quickly to her feet, abandoning Anakin on the bed, and hurried to Obi-Wan's side. "How are you?" she cried in worry. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Much better, thank you," Obi-Wan dismissed her concern, as if he felt perfectly fine, which was a blatant lie, but a lie for their sake. "But I think I'll go to bed now."

Padmé nodded. "That's a good idea. You need to rest."

Obi-Wan looked past Padmé at the children in their bed. A loving smiled appeared on his mouth and restored a bit of life in the sickly pallor of his face. "Goodnight, Luke. Goodnight, Leia."

"Goodnight, Ben!" both children said more than once, before the Jedi bid Anakin (whose demeanor seemed to have taken a 90 degree turn in a matter of seconds _—_ in reply, he just nodded, his face cold and his eyes dark) and Padmé goodnight and found himself, once again, alone in the shadows of the hallway. He went to his room and closed the door behind him, blocking out the muffled sound that followed him from the kids' room. His room was still a mess from the raid that morning. Looking around, he saw his belongings scattered heedlessly across the floor. He sighed. He would clean up tomorrow, he decided, giving in to his exhaustion. For now, he resolved to pick the lamp off the floor and place it back on the dresser. Then, still fully clothed, he climbed into bed and closed his eyes.

His room was still a mess from the raid that morning. Looking around, he saw his belongings scattered heedlessly across the floor. He sighed. He would clean up tomorrow, he decided, giving in to his exhaustion. For now, he resolved to pick the lamp off the floor and place it back on the dresser. Then, still fully clothed, he climbed into bed and closed his eyes.

He lay there for only a few minutes before he knew he would not be able to sleep tonight. That was strange. Even as drained and weak and ill as he was, even when he was out cold on the couch only a few minutes before, now he was restless. Maybe, it was the pain keeping him up, he thought reasonably. His chest and throat ached terribly; his head throbbed; and his ribs hurt where that clone-trooper jabbed him in the side. He was starting to wonder if it was the bone and not just the flesh that had been bruised. It seemed logical to assume it was the pain keeping him awake.

…Or, maybe, it was the deep, hollow sensation that filled his gut… The vigorous tension that built up in his chest and burned his heart, and that he knew was not from the poison…

He did not know why he felt so discouraged, so _… alone._ For the first time in three years, his brother had come home, and yet Obi-Wan felt more alone than ever. Why? Wasn't he glad Anakin was here? Of course, he was! Wasn't he happy the Skywalkers were _finally_ a family, finally together, finally _happy,_ even if only for a night? Of course. He could think of nothing that would make him happier. And wasn't he happy Luke and Leia got to be with their father? …Their _real_ father… Yes, he was happy about that too.

But… at the same time… he could not admit to himself, but in his heart he knew… Anakin's presence _forced_ him reconcile with a fact he always knew and pretended to embrace but, in truth, begrudged and resented. It was a fact he pretended not to notice, as if, by ignoring it long enough, it would eventually go away and cease to be true.

He was not Luke and Leia's father. They were not his children. He was nothing to them. He had no right to raise them. He had no right to love them. He was not even _allowed_ to love them. That was against the Jedi Code.

Obi-Wan rolled onto his back and lay still. He stared up at the ceiling, out through the circular window over his bed. He could see the sky. Space was black but lit by an army of glittering stars, and three moons her generals. He lay there for almost an hour, watching the stars, waiting for his eyes to grow heavy. Then, a nearby door closed, and Obi-Wan heard voices whispering in the room beside his. Anakin and Padmé.

His stomach rolled over, and he was suddenly cursing himself for not having fallen asleep yet. Now, he felt like he was eavesdropping, _spying_ on them—even though he was doing his best not to listen to their voices, and he could hardly make out a few words anyway. Still, before he knew what he was doing, he got out of bed and left the room. With the swift and silent trod of a Jedi, he maneuvered through the dark house and found the door. He went out.

Cool night air kissed his face. Tatooine was a furnace in the day, but, after dark, it felt almost like autumn on Coruscant. He sat down. The sand, hot enough to char a man's skin in the day, was cold now.

He leaned back against the side of the house and let out a slow breath. He stared across the blue-hued dunes of the desert. He looked up at the diamond tapestry of sky. He exhaled carefully. He tried to clear his head, calm his mind, let go of this persistent _tension_ that constricted his insides like a snake. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling.

* * *

"So what is it with you and Obi-Wan?" Anakin asked through his teeth. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood stiffly in the center of the bedroom. He stared stone-faced at his wife, who had already climbed into bed.

Padmé turned her head and frowned at him, sincerely bewildered. She could see resentment smoldering in his eyes, like a low-burning flame just starting to kindle. "What do you mean, 'what is it with me and Obi-Wan?'"

This response only fueled Anakin's anger. He scoffed and grit his teeth. "I'm not stupid, Padmé; I know there's something between you two."

Since his arrival back at the house, Padmé's actions only added to—maybe even _confirmed_ —Anakin's suspicions. She would not leave Obi-Wan's side. Even after he fell asleep (well, fell unconscious, more like) Anakin could not tear her away from him. She was terrified this illness was going to kill him. She kept feeling his forehead, dabbing his face with cold cloths, nervously asking Anakin if there was anything else they could do for him… When his fever broke, Anakin _finally_ convinced her to leave Obi-Wan alone and spend a bit of time with her _family_. Padmé agreed very tentatively, and before she could bring herself to leave Obi-Wan, she brushed a lock of sun-bleached hair out of his face and _kissed_ him softly on the forehead. Right in front of Anakin! Her _husband!_ As if she didn't see why he might possibly have a _problem_ with that!

Afterward, in the midst of his family, Anakin was able to forget about this for a time. But as soon as Obi-Wan reappeared in the doorway, Padmé rushed to his side, and anger—that deadly toxin called jealously—burned inside Anakin again. This time, it would not go away.

Padmé's face suddenly mirrored Anakin's outraged expression. She sat up abrupt in bed and stared at her husband appalled. She knew what he was hinting at, but she _hoped_ she was wrong. "What exactly do you mean by that, Anakin?" she shot back sharply (as if she thought _he_ was in the wrong here).

"You love him." Anakin said it bluntly. The words stung as he uttered them. They stung Anakin, and they stung Padmé.

"Well, of course, I love him!" she cried, trapped somewhere between shock, confusion, anger, and desperation. "He's helped me _raise my children_ —"

" _Our_ children," Anakin corrected her.

"Yes, _our_ children," Padmé agreed, her brown eyes blazing like flame as she glared at her husband. "Obi-Wan is like Luke and Leia's _father!"_ (Anakin's entire body stiffened at the word "father," and his jealousy swelled.) "He's like my brother!"

"Your brother," Anakin repeated tensely. He let the word roll around in his head. He considered it. He wanted it to be true. He _longed_ for it to be true. But he wasn't convinced. "You think of him as a brother. Is that all, Padmé?"

"Of course, that's all!" Other emotions were gone, and now she was just angry. What Anakin was accusing her of was ridiculous! _Outrageous!_ For three years, she had loved him faithfully. Never once did her heart waver. Never once did she so much as _think_ of another man. Yes, she loved Obi-Wan. She loved him deeply, like her own family. He _was_ a part of her family now. He was her brother, just as he was Anakin's brother. Yet, she did not love him the way Anakin feared. She did not love him the way she loved Anakin.

"Is that really what you think of me, Anakin?" Padmé went on, breathless in her indignation. "Do you really think I would _betray_ you like that!? Is that how much you _trust_ me!? I love you! For three years, I have loved you _faithfully!_ For _three years,_ Anakin! And I never wanted anything in return! I didn't care that you were never here!"

Padmé's voice broke. An angry yell became a strained and high-pitched cry. Her face was flushing with anger and sorrow, and Anakin thought he saw tears forming in her eyes. She thought she was going to break down and weep. She didn't. As much as she wanted to, she gathered her strength and held her ground. She kept shouting, "I didn't care that you left us! That I could never see you! That _your children didn't even know you!_ "

"I didn't have a choice, Padmé!" Anakin was suddenly defending himself, raising a black-gloved hand to point at her. He did not expect this counterattack. It caught him off guard, and it hurt him. Every word she spoke stabbed him like a knife and burned like salt rubbed in his raw wounds. He was still angry, but now he felt something stronger than anger, something that always came at the worst of times and crushed his body and soul. Guilt.

"I didn't want to be away! I wanted to be with _you_ and the _children!_ I thought about you every minute! I dreamed of you every night! It was the _Republic_ that forced me to go away! The Senators and the Jedi—even Obi-Wan!"

Padmé could hardly believe what she was hearing. The mention of Obi-Wan—that Anakin was throwing him into this, that Anakin was going to _blame_ the man who saved all of their lives!—enraged her. Padmé's anger was fiercer now than ever. "That wasn't _their fault!_ " she hissed mercilessly. "It wasn't Obi-Wan's fault, or the Republic's, or mine! You _can't blame us!_ "

But Anakin knew the true meaning of her words: _That was your own fault, Anakin! You shouldn't have listened to Palpatine! You shouldn't have turned to the Dark Side! You shouldn't have chosen_ power _over_ your own family! _You have no one to blame but yourself!_

He felt like she had smacked him in the face. He stared at her. His jaw was open slightly, but suddenly he could not speak. His tongue was stiff and his throat a knot. He closed his mouth slowly. With difficulty, he swallowed.

He felt so _stupid._ He was suddenly exposed; looking at himself from someone else's perspective—through Padmé's eyes. He realized how ridiculous he was being, how faithless, how unfair. It as if, all at once, he realized that he was naked, and he was left exposed, vulnerable, weak, humiliated, and ashamed. Anakin was ashamed of himself. Once again, guilt crushed him. Guilt—the one burden that, no matter what he did, he would never be able to escape.

"Padmé…" he whispered. All anger was gone now, and, looking into his eyes, Padmé saw a reflection of her own pain and grief. He took a small step toward her. "Padmé…" She turned her head away, as if she was too disgraced to even look at him. That was another knife to Anakin's heart.

He eased himself down slowly and sat on the bed beside her. He reached out to gently touch her hand. To his relief, Padmé did not pull away. "Padmé, I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I didn't… I wasn't thinking…"

Padmé's turned her head, and brown eyes met blue. Their faces were close enough that he could have kissed her. Padmé eyes shifted, and she looked at the hand lying softly on her own. She grasped it. Anakin tightened his grip on her hand too. He moved closer to her. Padmé reached out and pulled him toward her. Anakin went to her, and then Padmé was in his lap, curled up against him, holding him as he held her, rocking her gently in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Padmé," Anakin said softly beside her ear, his chin resting on her shoulder, her head tucked against his chest. He stared across the bedroom and sighed. "I know I was out of line. I had no right to say those things. I just…" He struggled to find words to explain. "It's just hard, having to be away from you and the kids."

"I know, Ani," Padmé said quietly. She raised her head and looked up to meet his gaze.

Anakin nodded slowly. His eyes flickered away, and he hesitated, struggling to go on. It was hard to admit. "I know I shouldn't be jealous of Obi-Wan," he said with difficulty. "We're still a family, because of him. It's just… it's just hard."

It was hard not to be jealous. Obi-Wan was living the life Anakin was supposed to be living. He was living with Anakin's family, protecting Anakin's wife, raising Anakin's children… Everything Anakin had, everything he loved, everything he was _living for_ , was now Obi-Wan's. Literally, everything Anakin had, Obi-Wan had taken from him. And, yet, Obi-Wan had done it to save them.

"I understand, Anakin," Padmé said calmly, and she did.

"I'm sorry I said that about you. I know I was wrong."

"I forgive you," she answered, because Padmé always forgave Anakin when he didn't deserve it.

She looked up, and their eyes met again. A second passed, and their lips met too. The Force turned out the light for them, and, in the darkness, they could pretend the rest of the world was gone. They could forget everything else and just hold tight to each other. They let their worry, fear, regret, doubt, and sorrow fade away into the void around them, and their love was the only thing in the world. A night of turmoil seamlessly transfigured into a night of tenderness, peace, and unconquerable love that would never die, no matter what vices fought in vain to shatter that holy bond. Even when they were a galaxy apart, nothing could come between their love. Not distance. Not war. Not even death.

* * *

That night, it dawned on Obi-Wan Kenobi for the first time that he was no longer the Jedi everyone ennobled and elevated during the Clones Wars. He was no longer the flawless general, the ideal model, the exemplarity Jedi. If Master Yoda was still training Jedi younglings—if there still _were_ Jedi younglings—no longer would he say to them, "See Master Kenobi? Just like him, all of you should strive to be." Those days were behind him, Obi-Wan finally understood. He was not that perfect Jedi anymore. That Jedi was destroyed on Mustafar.

Mustafar was his undoing. Because, on Mustafar, Obi-Wan was faced with a choice, and that choice would change his whole life forever. Standing on the black slopes of an ignited volcano, in the very heart of an inferno, he had to choose between the Jedi, the Code, the Republic, everything he knew and believed in… and his brother, who had betrayed him. Had Obi-Wan left Anakin, burning and dying, on that forsaken planet, he would have remained pure in the eyes of the Jedi and his whole life would have been different, but he wouldn't have been able to live with himself. He chose Anakin.

That was the first time he defied the Jedi—a first step of many to follow. Since then, it occurred to him tonight, he had been wandering down a wayward path, and it was leading him further and further away from the Jedi, further from their teachings and values. Each step he took, it seemed, was a step further away from the Jedi. First, when he brought Anakin to Alderaan from Mustafar; then when he convinced the court to spare Anakin's life; then when he allowed his emotions to control him. Even today, when the general threatened Padmé and the children, Obi-Wan had been angry and scared. He even felt _hatred._ And he did not even try to repress it. He let it consume him, control him. That was not the Jedi way.

He closed his eyes. He let out a deep sigh, and, with it, he exhaled his feelings. He needed to empty himself, he realized. He needed to clear his head and his heart, alike. He had to let go of his emotions, let go of himself, forget himself and everything that might hinder him from union with the living Force. He started to meditate—something he used to do everyday but now hadn't gotten around to in over a month.

He inhaled and exhaled slow, controlled breaths. He listened to the world around him. He felt the cool night air against his skin, the gentle breeze. He heard a soft wind blowing past his ears and across the sand dunes. He heard something, maybe 6.81 miles away (the Force allowed him to perceive it even at this distance) moving across the desert—Jawa, he could hear their scampering feet. Another five miles beyond that, a clan of Tuskens were settling down for the night, lighting a fire, making camp. In a small underground house, almost 15 miles away, a father was kissing his children goodnight, and a mother was nursing her newborn child. For a second, Obi-Wan thought of Anakin and Padmé, and that broke his concentration.

He opened his eyes. He breathed a few calm, careful intervals, looking into the night, before he closed his eyes and tried again. This time, he looked inward, into himself—not as to selfishly think of his own needs, but so he could identify his own desires and then let go of them. He concentrated on breathing. He felt his lungs expanding and contracting inside of him. Gently. Peacefully. He could feel his blood moving through his veins. He could hear his heart beating, slowly, steadily… He could feel a hundred hidden emotions roiling about inside of it, combating viciously, snapping their jaws like a pack of wild dogs, twisting up and tangling like a pit of snakes, mixing, warping, bleeding into each other, making themselves impossible to identify. Obi-Wan had to extract them one at a time and release them. Then, he asked the Force to enter him and take their place.

He let go of worry. He let go of fear. He let go of anger. He let go of everything. He accepted that he was only a human being, weak and fragile, a single mortal in a much bigger universe. He accepted that he was powerless to change fate, the past, present, or future. He accepted the will of the Force, and he embraced it. Whatever happened, he would accept. There was no need to feel anything—anxiety, stress, regret. He was a Jedi, and he would play his part; he would fulfill his duty to the best of his ability; and, when time came, he would die. He would return to the Force, and, only then, he would be complete.

So, for now, he let go of it all. He let go of his emotions. He let go of his attachments. Yet, as he did so, he found there were a few things he was reluctant to let go of. He _didn't want_ to let go of. Like his attachment to Luke and Leia, and even his attachment to Padmé (which until tonight he was not even _aware_ of). He loved them. He loved them all, dearly. Until tonight, Obi-Wan Kenobi did not realize how deeply he loved this family. And, because he was a Jedi, a grimness condensed in his heart and reminded him, he was not allowed to love them. He would have to let go of that love…

But, wait. He suddenly hesitated and second-guessed the teachings of the Jedi. Padmé and the children were his family now. Of course, he loved them. Wouldn't it be _wrong_ if a man _didn't_ love his family? Wasn't _that_ the real crime?

Then, Obi-Wan realized: it was for that very reason a Jedi was not allowed to have a family.

 _You are a Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi,_ a voice—perhaps his own voice, or perhaps the voice of some Jedi master who instilled this doctrine in his brain long ago—reminded him. _You cannot forget that. You cannot forsake the Code. You cannot let your feelings control you. You cannot love these people._

Yes, he was a Jedi. He could not forget that. So, even as hard as it was, he gathered his attachment, his love for his family, and it let it go. He released it into the Force, and he watched it dissolve into the obscurity of the night. The cool breeze picked it up and carried it somewhere over the sandy hills of the desert.

"Ben?"

The Jedi opened his eyes. The soft, sweet voice awoke him from his meditation. He felt like had been dreaming, and this innocent whisper was what it took to wake him up. He turned his head. The door to the house was opened slightly, and a small figure stood in the dark entrance, staring out at him. "Luke!" Obi-Wan said, shocked to see the child out of bed. "What are you doing awake?" he questioned quietly, as not to wake up anyone inside. "You should be in bed."

"I can't sleep," Luke managed to explain after a moment of incoherent stuttering. "I woke up…"

Obi-Wan smiled at the boy. Already, warmth, joy, and love were rushing back into him, and the attachment he worked so hard to undo was knitting itself in his heart once more. "Did you have a bad dream again?" he asked softly.

Luke hesitated. He stared at the sand beneath his bare feet and thought a moment, before he looked up at Obi-Wan again and nodded.

The Jedi sighed. He nodded back in tender understanding. Luke used to wake up all of the time, crying in the middle of the night, claiming it was nightmares, (although he would never tell Padmé or Obi-Wan what these nightmares were about). Obi-Wan thought that had stopped now. Luke had not complained of a bad dream in months. He thought, and hoped, the boy would not have to deal with them anymore. "Come here," he said softly. He gestured for Luke to come.

A grateful (and relieved) smile spread across the child's face. He left the door gaping open and rushed toward the Jedi. He ran as fast as he could on unsteady little legs, desperate to reach the safety of Ben's embrace, where he knew he was safe from his nightmares. Luke ran straight into Obi-Wan. He threw his tiny arms around his neck, buried his face on his shoulder, and just clung to him, unwilling to let go.

"Hey… Luke?" Obi-Wan said softly. He rubbed Luke's back gently, trying to comfort the obviously frightened child. "Luke, are you okay?" The boy didn't answer. Obi-Wan sighed. He had dealt with this enough times in the last three years (for some reason, whenever Luke awoke from a bad dream, he never wanted Padmé: he wanted Obi-Wan) to know what to do. He just waited and held Luke in his strong arms, and that made the child feel calmer, safer.

It must have been a full minute before Luke dared release Ben. Then, he settled himself down in his lap. Obi-Wan's arms rested loosely around Luke, holding him gently, and Luke gripped his hands—clutching one of the man's fingers in each of his tiny fists. He leaned back against Obi-Wan, his head against his chest, and when he turned it to the side, he could hear his heartbeat. He liked that. It, too, made him feel safe.

Obi-Wan sighed and leaned against the wall behind him, for the moment, perfectly content. Even with Luke leaning against his sore ribs, Obi-Wan felt a hundred times better now, with the child in his arms, than he did when he was alone. He was _far_ happier when he was with his children—his family—than he was when he was with the Jedi. Or even the Force.

Glancing sideways, Obi-Wan noticed the still-open door and used the Force to close it. "Everything is alright, Luke," he said softly. He bent down to kiss the child's head, on top his soft blonde curls. "It was only a dream. You don't need to be afraid of anything."

Luke nodded. Obi-Wan waited. The boy didn't say anything.

"Luke…" Obi-Wan started gently. "You don't have to be afraid of these dreams, you know. They aren't real. They can't hurt you. But, if you think it might help you be less scared, you can tell me about it."

Luke hesitated. He never liked talking about his dreams. He never told anyone. However, last time, over two months ago, Luke had a nightmare, and Obi-Wan knew the child wanted to tell him. He asked him if he wanted to talk about it, and, for a second, he was sure Luke was going to agree. Then, at the last second, Luke changed his mind and shook his head vigorously. Obi-Wan did not push him, and the dream was never revealed. Now, Obi-Wan was making the same offer, and, he could tell, Luke was struggling to make up his mind.

"You don't have to tell me, of course," he went on kindly, trying to help the child in this clearly difficult decision. "But, if you want to, you know you can. You can tell me anything, Luke. You know that."

"I know," Luke agreed after a brief pause. Then, with at logic, the child made up his mind. "It was about you and Daddy."

 _What?_

Obi-Wan had to reprocess this information.

 _It was about you and Daddy._

He did not see _that_ coming. Not at all.

"Me and Daddy?" he repeated slowly, calmly, taking care to reveal no emotion. That last thing he wanted was for Luke to sense that this troubled him.

Luke nodded. "They're always about you and Daddy."

"Wha—" Obi-Wan started to say, but he stopped himself. _They're_ always _about you and Daddy…_ he repeated in his head. _Always!?_ But how could that be? Luke had not even _met_ his father until today. Surely, he could not remember him from when he was a baby…

"They're _always_ about me and your father?" Obi-Wan said carefully.

Luke nodded again. "Sometimes just Daddy, but you're usually with him."

And that was enough to confirm it.

"But… But Luke…" Obi-Wan frowned in confusion, struggling to find a way to ask. "Luke, I didn't think you could even _remember_ your daddy… Are you sure you had dreams about him before?"

"Yes," said Luke with confidence. "I'm sure."

Obi-Wan let his head rest back against the wall. He stared out at the dark desert, as his mind absorbed this rather unsettling information. He let out a slow breath, trying to keep his head clear and calm. He needed to find out more.

"How long have you been having these dreams, Luke?"

"I don't know," the boy said with a small shrug. "As long as I remember… I always dreamed about Daddy…"

Holy Force. Was _that_ how Luke remembered Anakin? Was that why he acted like he knew him when he arrived today? Had Luke been dreaming about his father _all along?_ The man certainly had a strong Force-bond with his son; that much was clear from the moment Luke was born. However, Obi-Wan never dreamed the bond was _that_ strong. And, if Luke _had_ been dreaming about Anakin… what the devil had he seen!?

The very thought made Obi-Wan shudder. These nightmares, which until this moment Obi-Wan thought were no more than the harmless dreams of a child, could be anything. Every night, Luke be witnessing the horrors his father witnessed. He could have seen the Clone Wars! He could have seen Obi-Wan and Anakin _kill_ people! Or he could have seen the missions of _Darth Vader!_ He could even have seen… Mustafar.

"Alright," Obi-Wan said quietly, effectively masking his distress. "And what happens in these dreams? What do me and your father do?"

"Lots of things," Luke said, shrugging again. He sounded a little reluctant to go on. He started playing with Ben's hands, running his little fingers over the rough calluses and leathery scars, that, by now, he knew he wasn't supposed to inquire about. "Sometimes, I dream about the stories you tell me and Leia, but Daddy's always there too."

That made sense. Well, at least, it made sense that Luke would dream about the stories Obi-Wan told them. But it made absolutely no sense whatsoever that _Anakin_ would be in these dreams too, since Obi-Wan never so much as _mentioned_ their father in his stories, or at all. Through most of the adventures Obi-Wan told the children, Anakin had been there too, but he left him out of the stories. It was safer that way. So why in the name of the Force was Luke _dreaming_ about him!? The only explanation was the Force-bond. Now Obi-Wan knew for sure.

"But other things too…" the boy went on a little nervously. "Sometimes you're both happy, but sometimes…" He trailed off.

"…Sometimes?" Obi-Wan prompted gently. His own stomach was thrashing around inside of him now. He was so anxious it was making him feel sick.

Luke let out a shaky breath. "Sometimes…" he began in a confidential whisper, as if he was afraid the moons might be listening. "Sometimes, you're yelling at each other…"

 _Oh, no… Not Mustafar, please don't let it be Mustafar…_

"Tonight…" Luke said slowly, breathing heavily, as if to brace himself for the memory. He was speaking so softly that Obi-Wan had to lean close and strain his ears to hear him. "Tonight you were fighting…"

Obi-Wan's heart plummeted into his gut.

"Everything looked orange and glowy, and there were big… _boom! booooooms—"_ The child did his best to imitate the sound of an explosion, and he made a sort of blowing-up gesture with his hands, outstretching his palms and tiny fingers to go along with it. "—in the air, and, and, and a red-ish river, and fire, and…"

He stopped to catch his breath. There was a long silence. Maybe, the boy was waiting for Ben to say something, but he didn't. Obi-Wan did not know what to say. He just waited. Luke swallowed. He took a deep breath and continued in an even softer voice.

"You looked different, both of you…"

"Why did we look different?" Obi-Wan asked tensely, hoping Luke didn't notice the change in his tone or the quickening of his heartbeat, which, by the point, was thundering like a drum in his chest. He hastily thought back to Mustafar and added, "Was my hair shorter?"

"No," said Luke, to Obi-Wan's surprise. "You looked…" He thought for a long time, struggling to describe in words the face he saw in his nightmare, but, in the end, he only sighed. "…I don't know really. But you were both wearing black."

Black? Anakin was wearing black on Mustafar, but Obi-Wan wasn't. Perhaps, Luke was just mistaken.

"And you were fighting each other with these… shiny sticks. You had a blue stick, and Daddy had a red stick…"

Anakin had a _red_ lightsaber? That wasn't right either. He had a red lightsaber now, of course, because of the Sith-act, but on Mustafar they both fought with blue lightsabers. At first, Obi-Wan was going to dismiss this as another childish mistake, but that wouldn't make sense. Luke did not even know what lightsaber was. Nor could he have known red lightsabers were for the Dark Side. Perhaps, the red lightsaber was a symbol. It must have meant something. It could very well have meant simply that Anakin was using the Dark Side, because, at the time, he was.

Unless… an ominous voice whispered in Obi-Wan's head, and his blood turned to ice. Unless, this was not a vision of the past at all. Was this a vision of the _future?_

"And then… And then…" Luke was retreating further into himself every second. His voice was growing softer, his words slower. He was shrinking in Obi-Wan's lap, curling up against him, gripping his hands harder, clinging to him for security. Obi-Wan held him tighter. He hugged him close.

"And then Daddy…" the child tried to go on, but he couldn't. He couldn't say any more. He closed his eyes and squeezed them shut, as if he thought he was still trapped in some terrible nightmare now, as if he thought he would open them and everything he was still seeing in his head—the horrific _memory_ —would go away.

"It's okay, Luke," Obi-Wan said. He gave the child a gentle squeeze in his arms, comforting, reassuring. "Remember, Luke, it was only a dream. It wasn't real. You don't have to be afraid of anything you see in your dreams."

"It…" he could barely hear Luke's reply. "It _seemed_ real…"

"I know dreams can seem real sometimes," Obi-Wan said understandingly, "but they aren't. They're just imaginary, Luke. They are not real. They don't mean anything. Do you understand?"

Luke nodded.

Obi-Wan took a slowly breath. He did not want to push Luke if he did not want to continue, and, at the moment, it was clear he didn't. However—despite what he just promised the child—now Obi-Wan was sure these were no ordinary dreams. Luke was seeing visions from the Force. While interpreting such visions often caused more bad than good, even _destruction,_ (a perfect example of that: when Anakin saw Padmé "die" in childbirth), sometimes they held extremely valuable, even essential, information. If Luke had seen a vision of Anakin and Obi-Wan fighting in the _future,_ Obi-Wan had to know why.

"What did Daddy do, Luke?" he asked slowly.

Luke tensed. His little body contracted into a ball, and he clutched one of Obi-Wan's arms with both of his. "I…" he whimpered in a trembling voice. He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it…"

"Please, tell me, Luke?" Obi-Wan pressed gently, keeping his voice soft and delicate. "Remember, it was only a dream. It wasn't real. Me and Daddy are both safe, and we aren't fighting with each other. You have nothing to be scared of. So, please… tell me what happened? It might make you feel better after you tell me."

Luke hesitated. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't even want to _think_ about it. But he trusted Ben. He loved Ben. He loved Ben more than anyone else in the whole wide world. Well, he loved Mommy that much too, but he liked playing with Ben more, and he liked helping Ben with the Vaporators, and he liked hearing Ben's stories, and he liked flying the speeder with Ben… He loved Ben. Maybe, it _would_ make him feel better if he told Ben. He took a deep breath and let it out shakily.

"Daddy…" Luke's voice was barely a whisper. Had it not been for the Force-bond between them, Obi-Waned doubted he would have heard a word. "Daddy poked you with the red stick… right…" Luke twisted around to face Obi-Wan and stood up in his lap. Even when Luke was standing and Obi-Wan was sitting, their heights could not compare. "Right here," Luke said, and he put his precious little hands on Obi-Wan's throat.

"He poked your neck with the red stick," the child whispered, "and…" Luke blinked. The image of his nightmare was still scarred in his mind. He could see it clearly, as if he was dreaming still. Tears rushed into his eyes and spilt down his cheeks. "And…" He started sobbing as he spoke. "…And it came out the other side, and… and then you fell to the ground, and you…"

Luke was breaking down. His tiny body shook as he gasped and cried and struggled to tell Ben the rest of the dream. Obi-Wan pulled him into him and held him tightly. Luke clung to him, gripping his cloths in fists, resting against his shoulder. "…and you weren't moving…" Luke whispered, when he finally caught his breath. "…and you were bleeding… and… and I think…" His voice cracked. In a strained whimper, he managed to report the grim end of his dream.

…and the grim end of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"…I think it killed you…"


	17. Chapter 17

**Hi, everybody!**

 **First of all, I'm so, so sorry about the incredibly long delay on this chapter, and thank all of you who have been waiting so patiently and understandingly. Ever since college started, I've been slammed with work, and I've been really busy this last week with the holidays too. But now the** **semester is over, and I have a lot of time off, so I can just** **relax and write. I'll try to get some more chapters posted ASAP.**

 **Thank** **you all so much for reading this and waiting so long for me to update. I really, really appreciate it. I cannot thank you enough for the support, feedback, reviews, favorites, follows, and everything else! It means so much to me! Couldn't do this without you!**

 **Without further delay, enjoy the next chapter (I hope!) and merry Christmas!**

* * *

 **Sworn to Darkness**

Chapter XVII

He sat alone in a vast, empty chamber, lounging in his throne, an inky cloak around him, a hood over his head, his eyes burning like hot coals through the darkness. It was the middle of the night, but Emperor Palpatine did not sleep. He could not. His heart—calloused and blackened as it was, as hard as stone and as cold as ice—was uneasy. Apprehension roiled like a snake inside of him, refusing to let him rest. He could find no peace, as there was none. Something was not as it should have been. Something was off. Wrong. Something, something vile and treacherous, using the shelter of darkness to hide, was brewing in secrecy. He could sense it. _Feel_ it. The Force whispered it in his ear and warned him of some silent peril, something that had been present all along but now was growing closer, stronger, waiting for the right moment to stab him in the back. Palpatine would be a fool to ignore such a premonition, to pretend all was well, to pretend he could trust his apprentice, Darth Vader.

 _Isn't it convenient,_ the dark voice of the Sith cautioned in his mind, _how Lord Vader's ship was hit by an asteroid that was just large enough to demolish his ship but small enough to leave him completely unscratched? He wasn't even injured._

 _He is strong with the Force,_ Palpatine dismissed this suspicion. _And he is the best pilot in the galaxy. An asteroid is nothing he does not know how to handle._

 _But then how he refused to let you send a ship to pick him up? Is that not odd at all?_

 _Why should it be? There was no sense to send another ship. He can fix his own ship._

 _Perhaps... But you cannot deny there is something hidden in Darth Vader. There is more to him than he allows you to see._

 _Indeed. The question, however, is_ what?

 _The Light,_ Palpatine realized at last. Or perhaps, he knew all along. But he had chosen to ignore it—deny it. He could sense the Light Side of the Force still swarming around Darth Vader, circling him like a thousand planets in orbit around their sun. _Yes. There is still light in him._

That troubled the Emperor. Sometimes, he had not the slightest doubt in his apprentice's devotion to the Dark Side, but, sometimes, he could feel light in Vader, and it almost seemed that this Sith was still a Jedi, still Anakin Skywalker. That bothered Palpatine, and it puzzled him. As far as he could tell, every link Vader had to the Light Side was gone—his master Obi-Wan, his wife Padmé, his unborn child. When they died, Vader's connections to the Light died with them, leaving only darkness. So what was this pull to the Light he still sensed in Vader?

He did not know. Yet, what did it matter? Vader would not return to the Light, Palpatine was sure of it. There was nothing left for him there. _Besides, he is so strong with the Dark Side._

 _How strong?_ doubt questioned once more. _How strong with the Dark Side is Darth Vader really? Perhaps, not as strong as you think._

 _He still has much to learn,_ Palpatine admitted. _There is still light in him, and he must learn to_ fully _embrace the Dark Side. But he has proven himself to me on several occasions. I do not doubt my apprentice's ability._

 _His ability, yes. But what of his loyalty?_

 _Lord Vader has given me no reason not to trust him. He has proven himself a faithful servant and a powerful Sith!_

 _But the way of the Sith,_ the dark realization eclipsed Palpatine's certainty, _is betrayal. You should know this best of all, Darth Sidious, you who murdered your own master, Darth Palgueis the Wise._

Indeed.

Perhaps, he should not so readily trust Darth Vader. In fact, it was foolish to fully trust any Sith. The way of the Sith was betrayal. Manipulation, deception, treason. The tools of the Dark Side. The path to power.

 _Darth Vader is powerful,_ Palpatine thought, _and he is ambitious. He always desires_ more. _But what more could he want? The Empire? The galaxy?_ _Perhaps, he is thinking of betraying me..._

Palpatine had his suspicions. He suspected Vader might be hiding something from him. He suspected his loyalty was divided between his master and something else, though he was not sure what—perhaps, his desire for power. Yet, at least for the time being, he had no proof. To throw away such power for fear of betrayal was as foolish as it was cowardly.

 _Vader is my best warrior and my most trusted servant,_ Palpatine concluded. _... though none of them can be trusted completely._

He contemplated this, staring into the darkness that filled his chamber as oblivion fills the abyss. In the end, Palpatine's faith in his apprentice did not waver. He had every confidence in Darth Vader, who he was sure would become the most powerful Sith Lord ever known to the galaxy. He had no doubt in Vader's ability, nor his potential, not his loyalty to the Dark Side. The question was Vader's loyalty to his master. But, for now, he was not overly concerned. For now, he would simply watch. And wait.

* * *

Anakin Skywalker awoke before either of Tatooine's suns rose over the calloused desert. Ever since he could remember, he was waking before sunrise: when he was a slave, when he was a Jedi, and now when he was a Sith. Shadow pooled throughout the room, as if it was late at night. However, even in the darkness, Anakin could see Padmé still asleep beside him, still safe in his arms. A tired smile tugged at his mouth. He tightened his arms—a crude fusion of human flesh and lifeless metal—around her and pulled her closer to her. He held her against his chest.

 _I hope the suns never rise,_ he wished silently in the darkness. He wanted the night to last forever. He wanted time to freeze, the galaxy to stop moving, the planets to stop turning, and then he and Padmé would not have to part again. If he could stretch out this one moment and make it last a thousand years, he would have done it, and he would have been content. He would have been happy. He would have been complete.

But not even a Jedi can halt the mighty steed of time. He stops at nothing and waits for no one. He races onward, no matter the gain, no matter loss. He won't stop. He won't stop hoisting the sun up into the sky each morning and dragging down into the abyss each night. Time marches on. So Anakin watched a faint yellow glow appear beyond the window. He watched it grow brighter and enter the bedroom. It fell gently upon Padmé, and her face seemed to shine. Like an angel. Anakin could have lied there for hours—forever, actually—just gazing at his sleeping angel, smiling at her beauty, admiring and adoring everything about her, every attribute and every flaw alike, together which, in Anakin's eyes, equaled perfection. He watched her pretty eyes flutter and open.

The first thing Padmé saw was Anakin's blue eyes. She smiled. "Hi, Ani," her satin voice whispered. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Padmé," Anakin returned, smiling broadly. He leaned forward and kissed her pretty mouth. She smiled against his lips, lost in the joy of the moment—the simple joy that should have been theirs every morning but they had not known in three years. It was a blessing so simple and yet so wonderful and that so many took for granted: just waking up beside the person you love.

"We should check on Obi-Wan," Padmé said as the couple climbed out of bed and dressed for the day (and Anakin couldn't help be feel a little annoyed—they hadn't spent five minutes together, and already _Obi-Wan_ was leaking into their conversation; already _Obi-Wan_ was coming between them). "He was so sick yesterday!" she went on, oblivious of her husband's irritation. "But he did seem better last night. Do you think he'll still be sick today, Ani?"

"He'll be sick for a couple of days," Anakin murmured, as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled a black shirt over a scarred body. "Not as sick as he was yesterday, but he's still gonna be in bad shape." Half of his heart wanted Obi-Wan to recover as quickly as possible, but—he could not deny—the other half hoped the illness would drag itself out for days, _weeks._ Because as long as Obi-Wan was sick, Anakin would stay on Tatooine with his family. Once Obi-Wan recovered, Anakin would have to return to the Emperor... and to Darth Vader. Then, who could guess how many years would pass before he got to see his family again?

Padmé nodded slowly as she stood in front of the mirror and braided her hair. She had thrown on some simple, sand-colored garments, and Anakin never saw her get dressed so fast. It was certainly a change from the elaborate costumes she used to wear and the hours she would spend getting herself ready when they lived on Coruscant. It was different, certainly, and yet Padmé looked no less beautiful. "He'll be alright though, won't he, Ani? He's not still…" She sighed and forced the words out through her teeth. "…at risk of dying, is he?"

Anakin shook his head. "He'll be alright. If the poison was going to kill him, he'd be dead by now."

That remark was comforting, and, at the same time, it was terrifying. That one creature should have so much power... The power to kill a Jedi with a single scratch.

Padmé and Anakin left their bedroom hand in hand. Padmé said she would tiptoe into Obi-Wan's room and check on him, to which Anakin protested and said he would do it, but both of them were spared the trouble, as they found Obi-Wan asleep on the couch in the living room. He usually awoke before sunrise, but this morning he did not—a result of a painful illness and a restless night. Snuggled up beside him, his face nuzzled against Obi-Wan's chest, Obi-Wan's limp arm draped around his little body, Luke was fast asleep.

"Oh, no…" Padmé whispered when she saw them. "Luke must have had another nightmare."

Anakin's brow furrowed. He frowned at Padmé. She wasn't looking at him and didn't see his concerned expression. She went to the side of the couch, her back to Anakin, and gently laid a hand on Obi-Wan's forehead. His skin felt warmer than it probably should have, but the fever was nothing like it had been last night. "I think he has a fever," she whispered uneasily. "Do you have any more medicine you can give him?"

"Does Luke have nightmares a lot?" Anakin asked, heedless of Padmé's question.

She turned around to face him. "He used to, but he hasn't had one in a long time."

"What are they about? Does he ever tell you?"

She shook her head. "No. He doesn't tell anyone." She gave a small shrug and added, "He always wants Obi-Wan when he has a bad dream."

Anakin frowned. His eyes shifted, and he stared at Obi-Wan, at _his_ son asleep in the Jedi's arms. He was a little upset that Luke had gone to Obi-Wan instead of him and Padmé—his _real_ parents. But, of course, he could not blame the child. He could not even be surprised. Obi-Wan had been there Luke's whole life. Anakin had not even been there a full day.

"I wonder what he dreams about," Anakin thought aloud, his brow furrowed in troubled contemplation.

"He's a kid, Ani," Padmé dismissed his concern. "Sometimes, kids have nightmares."

"Yes, but he's also a highly Force-sensitive kid. Padmé, he could be seeing _anything_ in these dreams! They could be visions like I used to have!"

Padmé could not pretend that hadn't crossed her mind, but she refused to let the thought bother her. She refused to stress over something—on top of everything else there was to stress about—when she could simply dismiss it as an infantile dream. Padmé looked Anakin in the eye. "They're just dreams, Anakin," she said evenly. "And, anyway, that's what Luke thinks, so it doesn't matter."

"Of course, it matters, Padmé!"

"Shh! Keep your voice down. You're going to wake them up."

Anakin let his breath out in a huff. "Alright," he grumbled, far from satisfied. They would talk about this later. Better yet, he would address _Obi-Wan_ about this later. Padmé did not want to get mixed up in, or even think about Force-visions anymore, and Anakin could not blame her. (He hadn't forgotten what happened _last time_ he lingered on a dream.) But Obi-Wan might understand. Or, if he didn't understand, at least, Obi-Wan would listen to him. …He hoped.

Padmé and Anakin made breakfast together, something they hadn't done since the children where born. They were in the middle of cooking when Luke woke up, and the first thing Luke did was wake up Ben. "Morning," Obi-Wan muttered a bit drowsily, as he sat up on the couch, rubbing his eyes and his aching forehead.

"Ben!" Padmé cried brightly from the kitchen, perking up a bit and rushing over to see him—why was she always so eager to see _Obi-Wan!?_ She swore she didn't love him—at least not, in _that way_ —but... but, as much as he tried to trust her, Anakin found it hard to believe.

"How are you feeling?" Padmé asked anxiously.

"Much better," Obi-Wan said, which was more of less true.

Anakin stayed in the kitchen, staring at the food in the frying pan, watching it sputter and bubble and smoke... much like Anakin's flesh when he burned to almost nothing on Mustafar. ...Because of Obi-Wan.

 _Stop this,_ Anakin commanded himself, trying to shake these treacherous thoughts out of his mind. _You wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Obi-Wan. You wouldn't have a family if it weren't for Obi-Wan. You own him everything._

"Good morning, Luke!" Anakin heard Padmé sing, and his head snapped up. The fog around his heart, shrouding it in shadow, lifted like a sunrise in his soul. Suddenly, he forgot about his jealousy, and a smile as bright as Padmé's spread across his face. Luke. His son. When he was with his children, there was no room for resentment or anger or anything besides pure, untarnished joy.

Anakin dropped the spatula on the counter, abandoned the food on the stove, and hurried to greet his son. Luke was hugging Padmé when Anakin arrived at their side. "Hi there, Luke!" he exclaimed. "Good morning!" He bent down and reached out to hug his child.

Luke recoiled. He drew back away from Anakin and latched on to (who the child regarded as) his real father. Obi-Wan. Anakin's heart cracked, as he watched his son climb onto the couch and burry himself against Obi-Wan. "Luke," Obi-Wan corrected the boy. He sounded disappointed but, for some strange reason, not incredibly surprised. "Say good morning, and give your father a hug."

Luke peeked up at Anakin, who was stared back him with a confused, sad expression. "Good morning," the child muttered shyly, still clinging to Obi-Wan's arm.

"Luke, look at me." Obi-Wan leaned closer to the child and spoke in a soft voice. But Anakin used the Force to sharpen his senses, and he heard him. "Remember what I told you. It was only a dream. It wasn't real. You have nothing to be afraid of." Luke gave an uncertain nod. Then, he took a deep breath, looked nervously at his father, and dared to give Anakin a small hug.

Anakin felt like he was going to throw up. He knew what was going on. Luke had a nightmare, a Force vision, and he had seen things—horrible things—that made him afraid of his own father. It wasn't Anakin he dreamed about. It was Darth Vader.

Luke stayed close to Obi-Wan all morning. He could hardly let go his hand for a few minutes so Obi-Wan could go to the bathroom (and throw up in the toilet; though he didn't tell Anakin or Padmé that), and Luke was waiting for him outside the door, eager to latched into his hand once more. Or, if Ben's hand was not available, Luke gripped the leg of his pants or the sleeve of his shirt in tiny fists. Anakin kept waiting for a chance to talk to Obi-Wan alone, but it was starting to look like that chance would not come, since Luke refused to let Obi-Wan stray more than arm's reach away from him. So Anakin took matters into his own hands.

After they finished breakfast, he told Obi-Wan he had to give him some medicine, but he didn't want the kids to watch. Obi-Wan agreed and, with a bit of convincing, got Luke to stay with Padmé and Leia while he led Anakin into his bedroom. It was still a wreck from the Stormtroopers searching the place the prior day. Obi-Wan hadn't got the chance to clean up.

"Wow, this place is messier than I expected," Anakin said mockingly, as he looked around. He closed and locked the door behind them. "Being that it's _your_ room, I mean. You always got on _me_ about keeping my room tidy."

"Yes, well, sorry about that," Obi-Wan replied, and he added just as sarcastically, " _Your_ soldiers made this mess yesterday, and I haven't had time to clean it up yet."

"You had all night."

"I was sick all night."

"I know, I know," Anakin said with a forced smile. He set the med kit down on the floor and shuffled through it. "You should sit down," he added, gesturing toward the bed. Obi-Wan obeyed. A strained silence fell between them. For the first time in years, Anakin and Obi-Wan were alone, and they pretended not to notice the dense wall of tension between them.

"How are you feeling?" Anakin asked after a moment, but there was a barrier in his voice, a coldness hiding all emotion.

"I've been worse," Obi-Wan answered in much the same manner.

"In other words, you feel terrible."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Obi-Wan's mouth. "You know me too well."

Anakin gave a dry chuckle. "It'll take a couple of days before you start feeling better," he said, filling a syringe with the right amount of medication, "but this'll help in the meantime."

"Thanks," said Obi-Wan.

"Don't thank me; you were asleep when I gave it to you yesterday. It hurts like kriff."

"Oh. Then thanks for the warning."

"No problem."

Anakin stabbed Obi-Wan in the neck with the needle, and fire erupted in his vein, tearing through his bloodstream, down his neck, down his shoulders, down his arms, through his chest and stomach, and the rest of his body, burning him from the inside out. "Oh, blast, it does hurt."

Anakin smirked, as he watched Obi-Wan cringe. "I warned you."

"This is supposed to _help?_ "

Anakin shrugged. "You'll start feeling better in a while... as soon as it stops burning."

"Wonderful."

"Here's another one."

"Oh, great. What's that for?"

"It's for the fever. But don't worry, this one's not nearly as bad. It might make you throw up, but it doesn't sting like the last one."

"Seems like a fair trade off," Obi-Wan remarked, and Anakin injected something into his arm. He was right: it didn't hurt any more than a common needle, but a few minutes later Obi-Wan started to feel sick to his stomach.

"Here's a trashcan," Anakin added, picking up an over-turned trash-basket and pushing it toward Obi-Wan, who he could tell was getting queasy. "Just in case."

Obi-Wan nodded, silently grateful. He was doing his best to keep down his breakfast, but he feared it was only a matter of time.

Anakin stared at his hands, as he put his supplies back into his med kit. _Now,_ he thought. It wouldn't be a pleasant conversation, but it had to happen. It had to happen now. "Obi-Wan..." Anakin started a bit tensely. Obi-Wan must have sensed the seriousness in Anakin's tone, because when Anakin glanced up, Obi-Wan was already staring at him, his gaze steady, his expression grave.

"Yes, Anakin?"

Anakin let out a slow breath. He looked up and met Obi-Wan's eyes. "Luke had a nightmare last night."

Obi-Wan did not look surprised that Anakin was addressing this. He held Anakin's gaze a moment. He answered flatly, "Yes,"

"A Force-vision," Anakin prompted.

Obi-Wan gave a grudging nod.

"Do you know what they're about?"

Obi-Wan's eyes flickered away. "He doesn't usually tell me," he admitted reluctantly. "But last night..." He stopped himself. Perhaps, he shouldn't tell Anakin. He was Luke's father, Padmé's husband, and (at least he used to be) Obi-Wan's closest friend, but he was also a Sith and a traitor of the Republic. Obi-Wan was not authorized to provide Anakin with any information concerning _anything_ unless first approved by the rebel council. Maybe, this was something he should keep to himself. ...Especially considering how Anakin behaved _last time_ he dealt with a Force-vision.

"What!?" Anakin demanded. He saw that Obi-Wan was having second thoughts about telling him, and his heart sparked with anger. He bolted to his feet and took an almost-threatening step toward Obi-Wan. "What did he dream about last night, Obi-Wan!? Answer me!"

"It doesn't matter," Obi-Wan said brusquely, fueling Anakin's anger. "Luke doesn't even know what the Force is. He thinks these are simple nightmares, and as long as he thinks that, his dreams are harmless."

"Harmless?" Anakin repeated. He stared at Obi-Wan incredulously, completely appalled by this response. "Harmless! Like hell they're harmless! He could be seeing _anything,_ Obi-Wan! He could have seen the attack on the Jedi Temple, or the Clone Wars, or Mustafar!"

"And as long as Luke thinks they aren't real, it doesn't matter what he sees. To him, they are nothing."

"Obviously, they aren't nothing, because now Luke is afraid of me!" Anakin shouted.

"Keep your voice down," Obi-Wan calmly corrected. Anakin _hated it_ when Obi-Wan talked to him like that! He wasn't a padawan anymore! When was Obi-Wan going to stop treating him like a child!? He _always_ treated him like he was beneath him, _always!_ "That door isn't sound proof; they are going to hear you."

"Listen to me, Obi-Wan," Anakin growled through his teeth. "For the last three years, I've listen to you rebels. I've obeyed your commands, I've put up with your rules, I've let _you_ watch after _my_ family! But I've have _enough of it now!_ Luke is my son, _not yours,_ and I have a right to know—"

"Anakin, please. Calm down," Obi-Wan murmured, closing his eyes and rubbing them with his fingers... as if his misbehaving padawan was giving him a headache. (He actually had a terrible headache from the poison making him sick, but Anakin didn't take that into account.)

"Tell me!" Anakin roared again.

"Alright!" Obi-Wan snapped back, shooting Anakin an annoyed glare. "I'll tell you what Luke told me, but I don't know much myself."

"Thank you," Anakin said with a frustrated sigh. He crossed his arms over his chest and, an angry scowl on his face, waited for an explanation. He thought it was his persistence that made Obi-Wan change his mind—just like when he was a padawan, if he vexed Obi-Wan enough, eventually his master would give in, just to get Anakin to shut-up. But, in truth, it was when Anakin said, "Luke is my son, not yours." Those words stung Obi-Wan worse than any injection or poison. When Anakin said it, something cracked inside Obi-Wan, and he was left dazed and vulnerable—a man who has received a wound on the battlefield. His defenses were gone, and he could do nothing but surrender.

"Last night," Obi-Wan began slowly, "from what he told me, I believe Luke dreamed about Mustafar."

Anakin's expression fell. He stared at Obi-Wan blankly. Then, with overwhelming panic. "Mustafar! And did you tell him—"

"I told him it was only a dream, and he has no reason to be afraid of either of us. I said we're great friends, and we would never fight each other. We would never hurt each other." There was an edge in Obi-Wan's voice—bitterness, resentment, anger—as he spoke these words he used to believe. There was a time he trusted Anakin with his life. There was a time he called Anakin his brother. There was a time he believed these brothers would never betray each other, they would never turn on each other, they would never hurt each other, but they had. Obi-Wan left Anakin limbless and burned, and Anakin left Obi-Wan even more wounded. All that faith wasted on someone who betrayed him in the end. And then Anakin knew: Obi-Wan had not forgiven him.

Now it was Anakin who felt the stab of sadness, the pang of regret. He sighed. His head fell forward, and his hands fell to his sides. "Alright..." he whispered, as his anger slipped away and, once again, he was left feeling guilty and stupid. He glanced up, but, once again, it was difficult to look Obi-Wan in the eye. "Thank you. I... I appreciate that."

Obi-Wan gave a curt nod—which seemed to be his response every time Anakin tried to thank him. He looked away and stared at the closed door. "I didn't do it for you," he muttered through clenched teeth, and Anakin could hardly believe these words were coming from _Obi-Wan—_ Obi-Wan who was always so forgiving, so selfless _._ "I did it for Luke."

Anakin nodded. Without a word, he knelt down on the floor and finished putting away the med kit. If it was awkward before, now it was a hundred times worse. Obi-Wan was lost in thoughts he was not willing to share, and Anakin was silently cursing himself for arguing with Obi-Wan, who had already given him so much more than he deserved. But, before they left the room and were no longer alone, Anakin had to ask, "You didn't teach Luke about the Force?"

"Of course, I didn't," Obi-Wan answered tensely. "I promised you I wouldn't."

Anakin nodded. He had not forgotten. Three years ago, before he left to become the Emperor's apprentice, he made Obi-Wan promise not to teach Luke and Leia about the Force, not to train them to be Jedi.

"Thank you," Anakin said quietly. "I owe you a lot of thanks, Obi-Wan. More than I can give you. I really..." But he wasn't quite sure how to put it in words—what he wanted to say, what he wanted to happen. He wanted was to make amends with his brother, to make things the way they used to be. He wanted to thank him for everything he had done for Anakin and apologize for everything he had done to Obi-Wan. He needed to ask—to beg—forgiveness. For everything. Anakin knew that was what he had to do. But he didn't know how. "Obi-Wan, I..."

Obi-Wan's comlink vibrated, and he rose abruptly to his feet, drawing the comlink out from his pocket. He glanced at the identification text. It was from Alderaan. The Rebel Base. "Anakin, you have to leave," he said, his tone now formal and stern. "I have to take this call."

Anakin sighed and nodded. Disheartened and embarrassed, he left the room. Before he closed the door, he heard Obi-Wan answer the comcall.

"Bail, this is Ben."

"General Kenobi," Bail Organa replied, his voice flooding with relief. "So glad to see you're alright. When we heard about the raid on Tatooine, I was afraid..."

"We are all alright here."

The door clicked shut behind Anakin. However, as Obi-Wan pointed out minutes before, the room was not soundproof. So, just when he was about to walk away, Anakin heard Obi-Wan add, "The Emperor sent Darth Vader to investigate."

Anakin frozen. His eyes darted around the neighboring rooms make sure Padmé and the children were not watching him. They weren't. They were nowhere in sight. Anakin took a step closer to Obi-Wan's room. He tilted his ear toward the door and used the Force to sharpen his hearing. He listened.

"Is he still there now?" Bail Organa was asking Obi-Wan.

"Yes," the familiar Coruscanti accent answered. "He's been here since yesterday evening."

"Good. The council wants to meet with you in person, because of the raid and everything. Apparently, they want a change in plans. How soon can you be to Alderaan?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi, everybody!**

 **I'm really sorry I took so long to update, and thank you all for waiting so patiently. Thank you for understanding. It really means a lot.**

 **As always, thank** **you for reading. Thank you for the support, feedback, reviews, favorites, follows, etc! It really means so much to me! Love you all! Couldn't do this without you!**

 **It might seem like not a lot has happened in these last few chapters, but I promise there is a big "twist" coming up very soon-as in the next chapter or if not the next definitely the one after it-followed by lots of action, combat, etc! Everything is going to blow up very soon! ;)**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Sworn to Darkness**

Chapter XVIII

"I have to go to Alderaan," Obi-Wan informed Padmé and Anakin as he came out of his bedroom and headed for the front door. "Anakin, stay here with Padmé and the children until I return. I hope it won't be long, but, to be perfectly honest, I don't know what to expect." His voice was cold, in effort to conceal his feelings, but Anakin could sense the Jedi was annoyed and more than a little worried.

"Why?" Anakin asked, rising to his feet. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," Obi-Wan replied dismissively, and Anakin knew it was a lie. "It's only a meeting."

Padmé was on her feet too, approaching Obi-Wan with a concerned expression on her face. "Ben, you can't," she protested. "You're sick. What if something happens, what if you get worse?"

"I'll be fine," Obi-Wan reassured her. "Besides, Alderaan has an excellent med center if anything does come up. There's no need to worry about me."

Anakin stood back and watched silently as Obi-Wan gathered his things, threw on a cloak, pulled up his hood, and prepared to go.

"You're leaving now?" Padmé observed cheerlessly.

Obi-Wan gave a brief nod. "I'll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, I have complete faith in Anakin's ability to help you look after the children and the farm."

Padmé forced a reluctant nod. Obi-Wan returned the gesture. His gaze shifted and met Anakin's. For a silent moment, they looked each other in the eye, neither saying a word but an unspoken understanding passing between them. Obi-Wan was granting a certain trust to Anakin—freedom—and Anakin was not quite sure why.

Obi-Wan turned and disappeared from the room. Padmé looked at Anakin. "I'll be back," he muttered without glancing at her. He hurried after Obi-Wan and caught up to him just outside the front door. "Obi-Wan. Wait a second."

Obi-Wan stopped—he was walking across the hot sand, toward a rocky hillside where is ship was concealed. "Anakin?"

Anakin stood in front of Obi-Wan and crossed his arms. "You would trust me to stay here alone with the family?" he questioned, frowning incredulously at the Jedi.

"Of course," Obi-Wan said as neutrally as possible. "It is _your_ family." Anakin noticed a note of resentment in his voice.

"Yeah, well," Anakin sarcastically went on, "the Rebel Alliance didn't even trust me enough to tell me what _planet_ my family's been on for the last three years."

"That was for your protection as well as theirs," Obi-Wan answered calmly. "Besides, someone has to be here to fend off the Empire should they come."

"That would blow my cover," Anakin remarked, and suddenly he realized that would be the best thing to happen to him in three years. If the Emperor discovered he was working for the Alliance, Anakin would abandon this whole Darth Vader charade, he would still fight Palpatine with the other rebels, and—what was most important—he would not have to be apart from his family anymore... and he would not have to worry about his ex-best-friend stealing his wife while he was away.

Obi-Wan read Anakin's every thought. He saw it in his face, his eyes. He felt it in the Force—whatever tarnished connection was left between them. When Anakin remember himself, tore his mind from this contemplation, and met Obi-Wan eyes, the Jedi was gazing at him with a hard, knowing expression. They both knew.

"Be careful, Anakin," Obi-Wan warned. "Your crimes haven't been pardoned, if you recall, and if Palpatine discovers your betrayal, either he will kill you or the Alliance will."

Anakin shook his head. "The Alliance needs me," he said darkly, his eyes like fire as he glared at the Jedi. "The Rebellion never would have come this far if it weren't for me, and thousands of innocent people would be dead by now."

"Thousands of innocent people _are_ dead by now, Anakin," Obi-Wan answered in brutal honesty.

"Well, a thousand more!" Anakin cried. "I've saved entire _planets!_ In fact, the Emperor wanted to wipe out every city on Stewjon— _your_ home world, Obi-Wan—just to make sure you hadn't survived your little plunge into the lava, and he would have had it not been for me! Your entire planet would have been destroyed! Whatever is left of your family would have been killed— _if_ you care. I'd have done anything to see my mother again, but, from what I've gathered, you don't seem to care much about your parents."

Obi-Wan could not remember much of his parents. He was so young when the Jedi took him from them. He did not know if they were still alive. He'd go back to look for them one day, I used to tell himself, once the war was over and his presence was not their death warrant. But, it was difficult to admit, even if he did go back, even if he did find them, he did not think he would recognize them. He might have had a conversation with them on the street and not realized he had been reunited with his parents, they that they had been reunited with their son. Qui-Gon Jinn was the only father he remembered.

"Yes, you have saved many lives Anakin," Obi-Wan answered, choosing to ignore that last comment—although Anakin could tell it got to him. "And if Palpatine discovers you, that opportunity will be lost, and thousands of innocent people you might have saved will be killed," he concluded, spitting Anakin's own argument back at him.

Anakin looked away, fury burning in his eyes. But there was nothing be could say, because he knew it was true. A tense silence fell between them, as this debate came to a conclusion.

"I have to go," Obi-Wan sighed, disappointed to have fought with Anakin—again. "I'll see you when I get back."

Anakin nodded. "Yeah, alright, see you," he muttered. He felt a pang of regret too. No matter what he did, no matter what he said, no matter how many times he promised himself he wouldn't, it seemed he would always find a way to fight with Obi-Wan.

"And Anakin," Obi-Wan added, just as he was turning to go. Anakin looked up and met his gaze. "Thank you for saving Stewjon," Obi-Wan said sincerely. "I... appreciate it."

Anakin nodded. "You saved my family; I owe it to you."

Obi-Wan nodded. There was nothing more to be said. So he turned his back on Anakin and walked away, into the desert, toward his ship. Anakin watched silently from the doorway, his jaw tense, his teeth grinding together. There was no trust left between him and Obi-Wan. It had crumbled like pillars of some ancient fortress, when they fought each other on Mustafar. The only thing left was ruins, a decaying skeleton of what used to be. Obi-Wan claimed to trust Anakin, but he didn't. And why should he? He'd be a fool to trust Darth Vader—a Sith, a murder, the leader of Darth Sidious's great armies.

...and Darth Vader would be a fool to trust Obi-Wan.

Even after everything that happened between them, all of the sacrifices made, all of the times he could have condemned him but instead saved his life, Anakin could not trust Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was a Jedi, a steadfast believer in the Old Republic, and a leader of a Rebel Alliance that would have love nothing more than to see Darth Vader's head paraded around the galaxy on a metal stake.

Obi-Wan was a good man. He always had been. He had a good heart. Anakin knew that. However, he also knew Obi-Wan had tendency to follow orders rather than his heart. If General Kenobi's next order was to take Anakin's children and hide them forever, or if General Kenobi's next order was to execute all of Palpatine's followers, including Darth Vader, would Obi-Wan refuse? Or would he give in to the pressures of his duty? as Obi-Wan always put his duty first. Anakin was not sure. And on top of that—

 _"Ben!"_

Anakin flinched, as the sudden cry snapped him out of this dangerous contemplation. He looks down just as a few-foot-tall boy darted past him, out from the open doorway behind him and to the blinding desert.

Obi-Wan stopped and turned around. Luke ran toward him, struggling through the sand, distress flooding his face and tears flooding his eyes. Obi-Wan jogged back and, in a few strides that would have been a difficult trek for the child, meet him a small distance in front of the house. Close enough for Anakin to hear everything.

"What's the matter, Luke?" Obi-Wan said gently. He knelt down in the sand, and the child ran straight into him. Panting and shaking with sobs, Luke threw his little arms around the Jedi's neck, buried himself again his warmth, strong body, and clung to him with all of this fragile strength.

"Luke..." Obi-Wan said uncertainly. He patted the boy's back in effort to comfort him but, for some reason, hesitated to embrace him in return. Perhaps, it was the presence of the child's father, his _real_ father, who was watching them every move. "Don't be upset, Luke," the Jedi tried flimsily. "I'm going to be back before you know it."

Luke did not loosen his grip. He clung to him tighter. "Don't go!" he child burst, begging as a fresh fount of tears burst from his eyes and ran in streams down his flushed cheeks. "Please, _please,_ don't go! I'll do _anything!_ I'll clean up! Please, _don't go!_ "

"Luke. Luke, look at me." Obi-Wan had not see this coming. Baffled, but doing his best not to show it, he carefully pried the boy away from his neck and took him by the shoulders, so he could look into his eyes. "Luke, listen to me," Obi-Wan began quietly. "I have go. I don't have a choice right now; this meeting I'm going to is very important. But I'm going to come back."

"When will you be back, Ben?" Luke demanded through tears. "At lunch time?"

Obi-Wan heart cracked a little at the child's reply. Forcing a sad smile, he shook his head. "No, I'm not sure if I'll be back by lunchtime—"

"Dinner time?"

"...Maybe."

"When then?" Luke's face crumpled, as if he was about to break into sobs all over again.

"Soon, I promise," Obi-Wan said confidently. "Probably tomorrow. Alight? Luke, is that alright?"

Luke nodded weakly, miserably. Because he had no other choice.

Obi-Wan sighed, his heart sinking. Poor Luke. He didn't want to leave him. He did not want to leave any of them. But he had to. Obi-Wan wiped the tears off of the child's silken cheeks. "I'll be back soon," he promised once then. "Until then, I need you to take care of you mother and sister for me. Alright?"

Luke did not take the bait. Instead, he threw himself at Ben again and locked him in another throat-crushing hug. "I love you, Ben!" Luke cried out, and he clung to the man he knew as his father.

Those word hit Obi-Wan like blaster set on stun. He frozen, tense and uncertain as the child embraced him, clung to him, cried against him, and he did not know what to do.

"I love you," Luke whisper again, and that was what it took. With those precious words, his heart—hardened and made like rock by the Code of the Jedi, by the war, by the fall of the Republic and the rise of the Empire, the loss of a brother—melted and became a bleed heart of flesh. He wrapped his arms around Luke and held him close, enveloping him in a tender embrace. Luke could feel Ben's heart beating against both of their chests.

 _I love you,_ Obi-Wan wanted to return—so badly! _I love you, Luke, I love you,_ he wanted to tell him. With his eyes closed and his arms wrapped around the child, whom he loved like his own son, his heart cried out in unconditional devotion, but his lips remained immobile. He jaws clamped together—on the inside of his cheek, and he tasted blood in his mouth. He refused to let them open. _Don't say it. You can't say it. You can't say it. You can't love him._ But he did. Obi-Wan could not deny it, and Luke knew it.

At last, their embrace ended. Luke had to force himself to let go of Ben, and Obi-Wan released the child with the same reluctance. Although he tried to hide it. "I'll be home soon," Obi-Wan said softly. He offered a gentle smile. Instinct told him to kiss the child on the forehead, but the law of the Jedi forbade that as well. The Jedi rose to his feet and walked away, before the Luke could see the regret in his eyes or sense the tired aching in his heart.

* * *

"And I believe that concludes our meeting," Mon Mothma said. A council of rebel leaders—which had grown to near forty men and women—was gathered around a holo-table in a dark, underground chamber, lit only by the blue glow of the hologram. "Everybody understands what they are to do?" There was a mummer of agreement throughout the gathering, but Mon Mothma's eyes turned to gaze steadily at General Kenobi. He gave a small nod. "Very good. Thank you all for coming, and may the Force be with you."

The assembly broke, and the rebels headed off on their own ways. Before he left, however, there was someone Obi-Wan had to talk to. Alone. He planned to address him as soon as the meeting was over, but, as the group scattered, Obi-Wan lost sight of him in a chaotic sea of bodies and face. Sighing, he headed to the hangar, where all the rebel ships were landed and many preparing to take flight. People bustled in every direction, and Obi-Wan's chances of finding him looked doubtful. But the Force was with him. Guiding him, leading him. He found who he was looking for just as the ancient Jedi was boarding the transport that would return him to Dagobah.

"Master Yoda," Obi-Wan called, hurrying to catch up with him.

Yoda turned, as Obi-Wan jogged to meet him. "Obi-Wan," he replied in a flat tone. He did not look surprised to see him. Nor did he look pleased.

They had both attended various group meetings over the last three years—it was not as if they had not been in each other presence; it was not as if they had not been each other allies. However, Obi-Wan and Yoda had not spoken face-to-face since the decision to employ Anakin as an agent of the rebellion, since they had spared him instead of executing him—an idea Obi-Wan instigated and Yoda fervently opposed. Yoda knew it was Obi-Wan's love for Anakin—his attachment to his padawan and friend, his refusal to let him go—that made Obi-Wan vouch for Anakin. Not because he really thought it was a good idea, because, in his heart, he didn't. Not because he thought it would save the rebellion, although he hoped it would help. Not because he was thinking of the Republic, or the galaxy, or the good of the people, or anyone else, but because he was thinking of Anakin. Because he loved Anakin. And for that, Yoda lost faith in a man he once considered the greatest Jedi of all.

"Master, if you have a moment, I need to speak with you."

Yoda was not enthused. "Speak then."

Obi-Wan sighed, uncomfortably aware of the tension between them. He glanced around the hangar—at numbers of people, aliens, droids, and more. This was far from a private meeting place. "Perhaps, somewhere more solitary."

The suggestion seemed to add to Yoda's annoyance, but with an unhappy grunt he nodded and agreed. Obi-Wan sighed in relief and followed the old Jedi out of the hanger, down a dimly lit hallway, and out onto a small balcony that overlooked the city of Alderaan. It looked something like Coruscant—at least, something like Coruscant the last time Obi-Wan saw it three years ago. Except, the entire planet of Coruscant was one massive city. Here, the city was small, and beyond its boarders stood proud mountains and dense forests, lightly dusted in snow. It was beautiful here, Obi-Wan realized. So different from Tatooine. He sighed and leaned against the railing.

"So..." Yoda began, carefully watching the younger Jedi. Obi-Wan was struggling to hold in his anxiety, to endure the stress weighing down on him, slowly driving him crazy. Not only could Yoda sense it, but he could see it quite clearly on the man's face, in his eyes, the very way he carried himself. "What is it you must tell me?" he asked solemnly. "Trouble with Darth Vader, yes?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, this isn't about Anakin. It's about Luke."

"Ah," Yoda answered with a knowing nod. "The young Jedi. Skywalk's son. Very strong with the Force he is."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes. That's what worries me. Master Yoda—" Obi-Wan tore his eyes away from the captivating terrain of Alderaan and looked at the Jedi beside him. "Luke's been having nightmares, Force visions." Obi-Wan made Anakin believe he was not concerned about Luke's dreams, but of course that was only pretense. In reality, images of Luke's nightmare scarred themselves in Obi-Wan's mind, and he could not stop thinking about it, seeing them, reliving them as if they were his own dream. This dream was not one he would forget anytime soon.

"Surprised I am not," Yoda answered calmly. "Much like his father, it seems he will become. Caution you must take when consoling him about these dreams."

Obi-Wan nodded. "He doesn't know about the Force. I promised Anakin I would not teach him of it."

Yoda grunted, apparently in disapproval. "What these dreams are about has he told you?"

"He usually won't talk about it, but last night..."

Yoda frowned. "Last night what happened, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan let out a slow sigh. "Last night, Luke saw Anakin and me fighting on Mustafar."

Yoda's expression hardened. "The fight between you and his father. Yes."

"Yes," Obi-Wan confirmed with a reluctant nod. He hesitated. Perhaps, he should not tell Yoda. Yoda already did not trust Anakin. Yoda already did not want Anakin to be a part of the Rebel Alliance. Yoda already would have preferred to see Anakin executed. But Yoda was a Jedi Master, one most considered the wisest Jedi Master ever to live, and, at the time, he was all Obi-Wan had. God, how he wished Qui-Gon was here—but he was a Jedi—he could not think about Qui-Gon; he could not hold onto the past... So he did what any "good Jedi" would do and told Yoda. "I don't think it was the past, Master Yoda."

Yoda met Obi-Wan gaze and frowned, surprised by this remark. "Not the past, you say? What then do you think?"

Obi-Wan swallowed his apprehension and finished grudgingly, "...I think it was the future."

Yoda said nothing. His gaze was steady on Obi-Wan, waiting for him to explain.

Obi-Wan turned away. He gazed out into the beautiful mountains again. It was easier when he was not looking at Yoda, when he was looking at something so beautiful. He let out a slow breath through his nose. Exhaled his stress. Exhaled his fear. Give it all to the Force. When he spoke next, his voice was solemn and frozen, like the snow onto the mountains. But just so, it was not sad, not scared, not even worried. Simply accepting what was to come. "Anakin kills me," he said quietly. "Anakin and I fight again on Mustafar, and this time he wins."

A long silence followed. Somewhere in the distant forest, a small bird was singing. Obi-Wan could hear it. A red finch. 4.6 miles away. Perched on the branch of a snow-dusted pine. Icicles catching in the light of the setting sun, glowing like lanterns, gleaming like crystals. That was an exercise he was taught when he was a padawan—how to see without his eyes. Qui-Gon made him do it all of the time.

"Very careful you must be, Obi-Wan Kenobi," Yoda finally spoke, his voice low and grave. "If come to pass this prophecy will, then come to pass it will. Powerless to interfere with fate we are. If try to prevent these events you do, make things worse you only will."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, I know. I haven't forgotten what happened when Anakin tried to prevent a prophecy from coming true."

Yoda nodded, pleased with Obi-Wan's response. "And the future, we cannot be sure this dream is. Some other meaning it may have."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Perhaps," he muttered through tense jaws, even though he considered this possibility a thousand times already, and each time he came to the same conclusion that it was a senseless hope. This vision was the future. Somehow he knew it. The Force revealed it to him. He and Anakin would fight again. Whether it was on Mustafar or not, whether it was physical or simply a battle of their souls, Obi-Wan knew he would fight Anakin again, and next time, Darth Vader would win.

And what could Obi-Wan do about it? Stay put and do nothing? Wait for Anakin to kill him? That seemed ridiculously foolish—ignorant. But to attempt to intervene with fate was a path even more dangerous, one that Obi-Wan did not want to cross. It was a path that many had trod on and many had followed to the Dark Side.

* * *

It was twilight when Anakin finished repairing his ship. He started working on it as the second Obi-Wan was gone—that surprised Padmé; she expected Anakin to take advantage of the time alone and spend every second with her and the children—and now finished it. _Thank the Force,_ Anakin thought. An eager smile spread across his lips, as he jumped out of the ship, his boots sank in the cool sand, and he ran back toward the house. At last, after three full years, his chance had come. He would be an idiot to let it slip past.

"Padmé!" Anakin cried, as he burst through the front door.

Padmé flinched. She was in the kitchen, chopping vegetable for the dinner she was preparing. "Oh, Anakin, you scared me," she sighed with a laugh, as he came inside and hastened toward her. She smiled. "I almost expected a Sith Lord to come crashing through my door." Anakin smiled—but not at Padmé's joke, like she thought. He went to her side and swept her up in his arms.

"Anakin!" Padmé exclaimed through laughter. He tightened his arms around her, lifted her off her feet, and spun her around. "Anakin, he careful, I'm holding a knife!" she cried, gripping his shoulder with one hand as he spun her, but she could not suppress her smile.

He set her down gently in front of him. "I love you," said Anakin. Before she could return the promise, he leaned in and kissed her, deeply and passionately on the mouth. Padmé was taken slightly aback by this sudden affection, his abrupt shift in behavior. This morning the two of them had argued, and then Anakin had gone to fix his ship, she thought to distance himself from her because he was angry. Apparently, he was not angry anymore. She smiled against his lips. "You taste like peppermint," Anakin informed her, when the kiss ended and he pulled back to gaze at her face. He could only restrain himself for a moment, before he leaned in for more.

"Hold on," Padmé laughed, turning away.

"What?" asked Anakin.

She put the knife down on the counter. A vast smile spread across his face. "There," said Padmé. "Now you can kiss me."

Anakin beamed at her, unable to restrain his joy. His face glowed like the double-suns, and his eyes twinkled like the stars he loved to fly through at night. They dove at each other. Their lips connected, like two halves of a broken heart put back together. Padmé clutched his face in her hands. Anakin pulled her toward him and held her against him, as if she could not be close enough. He kissed her fervently, intensely. She could feel his passion burning in her own body, her own heart, her own blood. She could feel his heart pounding—her heart was pounding too. Anakin kissed her mouth. His lips worked their way to the side—he kissed her cheek, down her neck.

Padmé sighed. She leaned against him, her cheek resting on his shoulder. She closed her eyes. His arms around her, his lips moving steadily against her neck... she let herself melt into his warmth, get lost in his love. Anakin hadn't acted quite like this the entire time he had been here. He hadn't acted like this since... she wasn't even sure. It must have been because Obi-Wan was gone.

"The kids are asleep," Padmé said softly. "They're taking a nap. We probably have an hour or so to be alone..."

Anakin straightened up. Her look her soft hands in his own and raised his eyes to gaze in adoration at his beautiful Padmé. She smiled up at him. This felt like their wedding night. The night they were married on Naboo. So many years ago. Before the war, before all of this. When there was nothing but the two of them. Nothing but him and her and their love that would last forever.

"Padmé," Anakin began in a low voice. "Padmé, listen to me."

Her smile faded. A dark shadow eclipsed her heart, and she felt the room go cold. Something was wrong. Something was off. Something—something was wrong with Anakin. It scared her.

"You have to get your things, you and the children. Pack everything you need. We're leaving tonight."

"What... Anakin..." Padmé took a step back, away from him, pulling her hands from his grasp. "Anakin, what are you talking about?"

"We're leaving, Padmé," Anakin answered. A smile spread across his face. Padmé's heart dropped. A chill cut through her like a knife. That smile! The look in his eyes, the way he was looking at her now, it reminded her—

She did not want to think it!

...It reminded her of the way he looked at her the night the Republic fell. The way he looked at her on Mustafar.

"You and me and the children!" he went on, lost in the frenzy of his excitement. "We're leaving Tatooine. I fixed my ship; we can fly away from here! We're going to run away together. We'll go into hiding, and we can forget about everything else. We can forget about the war, the Empire, the Rebellion, all of it! We won't have to be a part of it anymore. We'll be safe, Padmé. Just you and me and the kids..." Anakin stepped closer to her. He cupped her cheek in his hand and smiled gently. "We'll be a family, Padmé. A _real_ family. Like we were supposed to be."

"But..." Padmé stuttered. She stared at him, too shocked to reply. Her tongue was paralyzed, her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding but the rest of her body immobile, her mind was racing but she could not think. She did not know what to say. She did not know what to do. "But we can't, Anakin," she finally managed, but she sounded uncertain. "We can't just run away: the Rebellion needs us, they're counting on us..."

"They don't need us, Padmé," Anakin promised, shaking his head. "They're _punishing us_ for what happened, but they don't need us. They will be fine without us."

Padmé stared at him. She did not know what to say.

"Now," said Anakin. He smiled and playfully touched the tip of her nose with his finger. "Go get your things ready. I'll start packing the children. By sunrise, we have to be long gone."

"But... but Anakin..." Padmé weakly protested, unable to coax her legs to move.

"What, Padmé? What could possibly be wrong!? Just think about it! This is it! This is out _chance!_ " Anakin exclaimed, desperate, begging her to give in. "This is our chance to have everything we ever wanted! We can be together and happy and _free!"_ Anakin stepped closer to her. He held her hands. "I love you, Padmé," he said softly. "I love you, and I love the children. And unless we take this chance now, we may never be a family." He looked her in the eye. His gaze was an imprisonment. She could not look away. "If I leave here tomorrow morning," he said, his jaws barely moving, "you may never see me again. I may never see my wife or children for the rest of my life. And I _cannot_ let that happen, I won't! This is the only way, Padmé." He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. "We have to do this. It's our only choice."

"Ani, I..." Padmé trailed off. "I don't know..."

"You don't know?" Anakin cried, utterly shocked at her hesitation. He thought they would be rushing about the house and packing their things by now; he thought they would be _gone_ by now! "What don't you know, Padmé!? Don't you want to be a family!?"

"Of course, I do..."

"And isn't this everything we ever dreamed of!?"

"Well, yes, it is, but—"

"But _what!?_ "

"But I can't leave Obi-Wan!"

Whatever happiness, whatever light, glowed in Anakin went dark. The sun set, and night descended. The candle flickered and went out. Anakin's face fell. It became hard and dark, like a cold stone. He stared at Padmé, not a trace of joy left in his eyes. Only resentment, only anger, only darkness.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin breathed. His voice was like the low hiss of a serpent. "You can't leave _Obi-Wan?_ " He overserved her carefully, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. "You love him."

"Anakin, please, don't start this again," Padmé said with a heavy sigh. She closed her eyes and shook her head. "You know how I feel about Obi-Wan, and you know how I feel about you. I don't love him. Not like that."

"Then why in _hell_ can you not come with _me,_ with your _family,_ because of _Obi-Wan!?_ " Anakin roared. The entire house seemed to reverberate with the pulse of his wrath, like thunder surging through a planet before it storms. The entire house trembled in fear of him, as fury erupted in his soul and blazed in his eyes like the fires of Mustafar. "You would rather stay with _him_ than me!? You love _Obi-Wan_ more than you love _your own husband!?"_

"No!" Padmé snapped back, raising her own voice, growing more annoyed but also more afraid.

"Then _why can't you leave Obi-Wan!"_ Anakin yelled. "I want the _truth,_ Padmé, I deserve to know!"

"The truth is that Obi-Wan _trusts us,_ Anakin!" Padmé cried. "After _everything he's done for us,_ everything he's done for our children, everything he's done for _you_ , we can't just _abandon him!_ We can't betray him like that!"

Anakin shook his head. "It was Obi-Wan's duty to protect you when I was away, Padmé. Now, I'm back, and I'm with you again. He's completed his duty. Leaving with me is not betraying Obi-Wan. You don't have to be _faithful_ to him or anything like that, Padmé. He's not your husband."

"Obi-Wan's _duty,_ " Padmé countered sharply, choosing to ignore Anakin's resentful remark about Obi-Wan's status of a friend not a spouse, "is to the Republic. And so is ours. I cannot abandon this rebellion, Anakin, and neither can you. The Alliance needs us."

"The Alliance has kept me away from you _for three years,_ Padmé!" Anakin erupted. " _Three kriffing years!"_ Padmé closed her mouth, as Anakin's harsh words smacked her like a hand in the face. "I have _done_ my duty to the Alliance—and to the Republic! For three years, I've paid them in my own sweat and blood! And I'm FINISHED NOW! I won't go back to Palpatine! I won't play his game anymore— _or theirs!_ I won't leave you again, Padmé. I don't care what it costs. And I will _not_ let the Alliance take you from me. I've paid my debt to them. We owe them nothing now."

Padmé swallowed dryly. She looked away. Her eyes searched restlessly over the wood planks of the floor, over the countertop, over the sand-colored walls, as if looking for an answer. Her mind was racing, her heart hammering, her head spinning in a whirl of confusion and confliction. Was he right? Was Anakin right? It was true that this was their chance—their one chance to be together, like they always dreamed of, their one chance to make forever a reality. And it was true that if Anakin left tomorrow she might not see him again for years, or forever! And it was true that Anakin had served the Republic for three years, risking his life every day for it! Did they _really_ owe anything else?

"Padmé. Padmé, look at me," said Anakin.

She forced herself to look up. Their eyes met.

"You have to get your things," Anakin said very clearly, very carefully, as if afraid he would speak too loud and frighten her off. "We have to get out of here while we still can. If we don't go now, it will be too late."

"I want to go with you, Anakin," Padmé said hesitantly.

"Of course, you do! This is all we've ever wanted! And there is nothing stopping us, Padmé! Let's go!"

"...But I can't."

"Yes, you can!" Anakin cried, exasperated. "We both can!"

"I won't." Padmé took a step away from Anakin. She pulled her hands away from him again. "I won't abandon the Republic, when they need us more than ever. I won't run, while others are risking their lives, fighting, and dying for our freedom." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Anakin. I wish I could go with you... but I can't."

"Padmé, I..." Anakin stared at her. He saw the woman standing before him, strong and resolute, and he watched every hope, every dream, his entire life crumble before his eyes. His heart cracked like a dish fallen off a shelf. The broken fragments of glass shattered inside of him, and his very soul was bleeding out. "If I go tomorrow, Padmé," Anakin began in a soft, trembling voice, "I might not ever see you again..."

"We'll see each other again, Anakin," Padmé assured him. She stepped toward him, closing the gap between them, and wrapped him in a loose hug. "I promise you."

"Maybe not for _years,"_ Anakin whispered. He dropped his gaze. Despite his effort to hold them back, his own eyes burned with tears. He did not want Padmé to see. But she did. Her own heart cracked, as well.

"I'm sorry, Ani," she whispered, her own voice wavering, struggling not to break. She wrapped her arms around him and buried herself against his chest. "I love you," she said with certainty. Sometimes that was the only thing she was still sure of.

"I love you, Padmé," Anakin answered softly. "I always will. Until the day I die." He kissed the top of her hair. Padmé closed her eyes and sighed. They stood there, holding each other in the kitchen, not speaking a word but not having to, as their dreams and wishes and the fantasy of what might have been, were washed away in a flood of unshed tears. And still, there was the question: what if? What if they change their mind? What if they go now? What if it was not too late?

Such thoughts were sentenced to a premature death when they heard the low rumble of a spacecraft outside, and they broke apart from their embrace. Anakin turned his head and looked sadly through the window, out into the setting night. In a bleak, empty voice, he told Padmé, "Obi-Wan's back," and he knew their one chance had slipped away. It had faded with the setting suns.


End file.
